Harry Potter and the Fictional Universe
by nobodez
Summary: ON HIATUS. Time travel, the last resort of the desperate witch or wizard. Take caution not to make mistakes, for they can have lasting consequences. Someone from our world replaces Harry after getting his wand. OOC!Harry, OOC!Ron, OOC!Ginny, and Manipulative!Dumbledore.
1. Prologue

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Prologue**

Harry Potter looked up from her potion cauldron into the faces of his two best friends, then back at the cauldron. It pained him to see what had happened to them, how the War had changed them, how it had changed him too. As he slowly stirred the delicate potion he thought back on all that they'd lost, and how, at the end, they'd finally found a way to win.

It had cost them dearly, this chance at victory, which is why it was just the three of them, and not four, or even five, that were going back.

"Got your wands?" he asked, without looking up.

Two wands, the first of willow, the other hazel, went into the cauldron, followed by Harry's holly. All had seen better days, but as Harry stirred the potion, they were dissolved into the potion itself, lending their power it the already potent brew.

"Thrice clockwise, twice anti-clockwise, one clockwise," said Harry, reciting the potion instructions from memory. Once done, he slowly retracted the glass rod straight up, not leaving a single element to chance.

"You ready?" he asked, looking up from the potion to his dearest friends.

The nodded, holding the glass cups they'd need for the next, and final, step.

With a heavy sigh Harry took his own glass cup, and dipped it into the brew, and extracted it full. Two more cups entered and somehow, once they were gone, the cauldron was dry.

"Bottom's up," Harry said with a chuckled, bringing the potion to his lips, then swallowing it in a single gulp. It tasted nasty, but he expected as much from his experience with potions.

After wincing from the flavor, he looked across to his two friends, who had likewise finished their portion of the potion.

Within seconds Harry felt a tugging behind his navel, the telltale sign of a portkey, and evidence that the potion was successful. He could tell by the looks on his friends' faces that they too felt the tug. With a smile, and a contented sigh, Harry let the feeling encompass him, and then, a second later, the three disappeared.

In the subsequent silence, a sheaf of parchment was blow by a gust of wind within the dilapidated framework of the suburban London house. It's final line read, "Thrice anti-clockwise, twice clockwise, once anti-clockwise."


	2. Chapter 1

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

_ Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"_

**- Chapter Five: Diagon Alley, **_**Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone**_** by J.K. Rowling**

Richard Martin didn't know where he was. The room was odd, dark and dank and dusty, the walls filled with small boxes. He looked around, and was surprised to see a tall skinny man with large eyes looking at him expectantly. He turned, and saw a giant of a man with a pink umbrella between him and the door to what he now guessed was the shop he was in.

"'Arry?" asked the giant, "Is everything al'right?"

"Mr. Potter," the man said, as Richard turned to look at him, "the wand please?" The man was pointing at Richard's right hand.

Richard looked down, and realized that he was holding something, a wand he guessed, in his right hand. He offered it to the man, "Uh, here, take it."

"'Arry? What's wrong?" the giant asked in his nearly indecipherable accent.

Richard turned from the man, who was carefully putting the wand, which Richard now recognized as familiar, as if he'd just held something like it moments before arriving here, wherever here was. "Um, what?"

"You voice 'Arry, what's wrong with it?" asked the giant, taking a step forwards.

"Nothings wrong with my voice," Richard said. He then stopped, "Wait, yes there is, it isn't my voice. How can it not be my voice?"

The giant looked over Richard's shoulder at the man with the wand box, "Could somethin' 'ave 'appened to 'Arry with that wand? Could it 'ave done somethin' to 'em?"

"Why do you keep calling me Harry?" asked Richard.

"That's your name, 'Arry Potter," the giant said with finality.

"Harry Potter?" Richard asked himself softly. "Like, the real Harry Potter?"

"Accept not substitutes," said the giant was a chuckle.

At that moment, Richard had to make a choice, and choice that would determine, in his opinion, if he'd spend the rest of his new life, and he guessed it was a new life, or he'd gone crazy. But, he'd either spend the rest of his new life in, apparently, St. Mungo's as a patient in the mental ward, or he'd spend it as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and savior of the wizarding world.

Richard, or rather Harry, smiled, "Sorry, yeah, something happened." He shook his head, "I can't seem to talk except in this bloody American accent." He looked from the giant, whom he now understood to be Rubeus Hagrid, Groundskeeper and Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts, to the tall man, whom, after discounting for his reduced stature as an eleven year old Harry Potter, wasn't really that tall, Mr. Ollivander, of Ollivander's wands. "Mr. Ollivander, could the wand have done something to me? I blanked there for a second, didn't know where I was, what was going on."

"Interesting," Ollivander said, stroking his chin after sticking the wand box under his arm.

Richard, no, he had to think of himself as Harry, reached up and stroked in forehead, finding the scar, and what he knew to be an unintentional Horcrux of Voldemort's, and fingering it, "Could it have something to do with my scar?"

Ollivander nodded, "Very curious indeed."

"Curious? I suddenly gain an American accent after swishing a wand, and you find it curious?" asked the eleven year old wizard with the mind of a twenty-eight year old American muggle.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

"And how, exactly, does To- Lord Voldemort's wand connection to mine make any difference?" Harry almost said Tom Riddle instead of Lord Voldemort, which he wasn't sure if people had made the connection, though obviously Ollivander knew, but an eleven year old Harry Potter shouldn't. "How could it have given me both my scar, and then, once I picked up its brother, given my this bloody accent."

"I wish you wouldn't swear so much 'Arry," said Hagrid from behind him.

"Hagrid," said Harry, turning on the giant. He paused for a moment, finally realizing just how tall the half-giant was. "Hagrid, I'll swear if I bloody well feel like it. I swished a wand, it shot out sparks, and I can't speak in my normal voice. Surely this is a perfectly good time to swear, and it's not like it's that bad of a swear word. It's not as bad as muggle or mudblood, and those are apparently perfectly nice words to say."

"Where'd you 'ear those words?" asked Hagrid, though more confused that Harry would refer to them as nasty or on par with swear words.

"I met an unfriendly boy at Madam Malkin's, a Draco Malfoy, said that Hogwarts should just be for pure-bloods, not muggle-borns or mudbloods. I've read enough to recognize bigotry when I hear it. Just because we've got magic doesn't mean we have to call the mundanes names," explained Harry. That was one of the books' most egregious parts, in Richard's opinion, that they let such nasty names into the lexicon. Of course, they could have just called them slines, like in another of his favorite books, but that was nearly as bad. They were just ordinary people, mundane, as opposed to wizards and witches, who weren't mundane.

"Ah, always knew the Malfoys would raise a bigot, 'M sorry you 'ad to 'ear that 'Arry," said Hagrid.

Harry shrugged, "Eh, it's not like I'm going to change the world at eleven. I'll save that for when I'm done with Hogwarts." He then put on a predatory smile, just to mess with Hagrid. He then chuckled, and turned back to Mr. Ollivander, "Sorry, you were doing some exposition about Voldemort's wand?"

"Exposition?" asked Ollivander.

"Sorry, like I said, too many books. You seemed to be delving into some exposition about the Dark Lord's wand, the only other brother wand to my own, and how it gave me my scar?"

"Ah, yes. Like I was saying, I remember every wand I've ever sold. His was thirteen-and-a-half inches, and made of yew. I think we can expect great things from you Mr. Potter, for the wand chooses the wizard."

Harry raised his eyebrows, not what he remembered Ollivander saying from the books, but close enough. The butterflies they are a flapping. "Thank you Mr. Ollivander, how many Galleons was the wand again?"

"Seven," said Mr. Ollivander, shaking his head to clear it. He walked over, wand box still stuck under his arm, to an ancient cash register. With a few taps at the keys, which Harry didn't understand, since the man only sold wands, not much of a register required, and the sale was rung up. Harry pulled seven of the small gold coins from his bag, though leaving a hefty amount behind, and paid for the wand. Mr. Ollivander handed the box over, "Have a good day Mr. Potter, and I am sorry about the accent problem. These things do happen you know."

"I see," said Harry, taking the wand box.

Hagrid lead Harry with his new wand out of the shop, and Harry stopped in awe at the sight of Diagon Alley. The books and the movies didn't do it justice, it was truly a wondrous sight to see.

"You al'right 'Arry. You look like you 'aven't seen it just a few hours ago when we came in."

"Nah Hagrid, I'm fine. It's just, well, I'm just amazed at the wonder of it all. What would those mundanes say if they saw what lurked beyond the streets of London?"

"Don't ever lose the sense o' wonder 'Arry. It's a gift, it is," Hagrid said, as he picked up the small pile of packages Harry had purchased before getting his wand.

Harry looked at the pile, bit his lip, than looked up at Hagrid, "Hagrid, can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure 'Arry, anythin'."

"Well, it's another month before I go to Hogwarts, the first of September, right?" asked Harry.

"Right," said Hagrid. He then patted his coat before digging something out of a pocket, and presented a train ticket to Harry, "The 'Ogwarts Express, direct from Kings Cross to 'Ogsmeade, First o' September."

Harry took the ticket, and tucked it into a pocket, "Thanks, but that's now what I was going to ask. It's just, well, I'll be in the mundane world for a month, and I'm going to need some spending money." When Hagird looked confused, Harry elaborated, "Mundane money." Then further clarified, "Pounds."

"Ah," said Hagrid with a start, "why didn't you say so when we were back at Gringotts?"

Harry shugged, he couldn't tell Hagrid the truth, that he wasn't the same Harry Potter than had visited Gringotts mere hours before, so he lied, some more. "I didn't realize until just now. The Dursleys, while they'll begrudgingly keep a roof over my head, they won't go beyond the bare minimum, and even that's a stretch. If I wand more than my school robes to wear, it'll be Dudley's hand-me-downs," he gestured at the oversized shirt and pants he was wearing, the same ones Harry had been wearing when Hagrid met him at the shack the night before. "I'll be wanting some clothes of my own, as well as a few things that can't be found on Diagon Alley, before heading to Hogwarts."

Hagrid looked surprised, "There t'ain't nothin' worth havin' that can't be found on Diagon Alley."

"Hagrid, never change," said Harry with a smile, patting the half-giant's arm. He then hefted the bag of wizarding money, "But even then, I'll be needing clothes, mundane clothes, and I can't spend gold and silver to buy them. So, I'll be needing to exchange these precious coins for banknotes, I presume that I can't go to any mundane bank, that only Gringotts will do, no?"

Hagrid nodded, then looked inquisitive, "Why do you keep saying mundane?"

"As opposed to muggle?" asked Harry. Hagrid's nod preceded Harry's explanation, "Draco Malfoy, he said the word muggle like it was beneath him to even think of it, especially in regards to wizards born of them, like my mother I might add. Muggle-born and mudbloods, he called them. He's a bigot, just like the Dursleys. They called my a freak because of my magic, and Draco would call them muggles because of their lack. But, they're just ordinary people, perfectly ordinary, non-magical people, well, aside from the bigotry. So, I'll call them as I see them. We're special, they're mundane."

Hagrid nodded as if he'd just heard something basic explained for the first time in plain english, "So, we'll be getting your mundane money, and then you'll be heading back home?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it a home, but yeah, back to the Dursleys. I'll probably make it back before them, what with them missing their boat and all. I'll be surprised if they're back before this time tomorrow," said Harry, pointing out for the first time that the two of them, well, Hagrid and pre-wand Harry anyway, had left the Dursleys without a way off the island.

"So, Gringotts then?" asked Hagrid, dismissing the fate of the Dursleys as irrelevant.

"Lead on, I've lost my way after so many shops," lied Harry. He couldn't very well tell Hagrid that this would be his first time, from his post-want perspective, of going to the goblin-run bank.

With Hagrid leading the way, Harry was able to make a repeat performance of his earlier self's gawking at the wonders of Diagon Alley, though he made it while dragging a wheeled trunk containing all his necessary, by wizarding standards at least, items for school, as well as the cage with a still-sleeping snowy owl, which Harry in his mind was already referring to as Hedwig, even though she'd not officially been named yet. Certain things couldn't be changed by the flapping breeze of a butterfly's wings.

When they arrived at Gringotts both Harry and Hagrid were surprised, though for completely different reasons. Hagrid was surprised because the bak was closed, the aurors outside relating that something "untoward" had happened while the pair were shopping. Harry was surprised, because he knew that, deep below the stone of Diagon Alley, the vault that Hagrid had recently emptied of the Philosopher's Stone, he was in England, he'd no need of the name 'Sorcerer's Stone', that even now Hagrid carried in his enormous coat.

"Quirrel," Harry mumbled.

"What was that 'Arry?" asked Hagrid.

"Nothing, just wondering if someone had tried to steal from Gringotts," lied Harry.

"They'll get what's coming to them if they did," said Hagrid, he then turned away, "I guess you'll have to get by with just your robes and hand-me-downs."

"Well," said Harry, thinking on his feet. He needed the coins changed to cash, since he'd been planing the back of his mind since realizing where and when, and who, he was what he needed to buy before the end of August, and clothes, while on the list, weren't the most important items thereon. "Like I was saying, it's not like the Dursleys will be back at Privet Drive today. I'm sure we can stay here in London. Surely there's a hotel or the like that'll take galleons, no?"

"Well, there's a few rooms at the Cauldron," ruminated Hagrid. "But I've got to get you home, I promised Dumbledore."

"Well, is there any way I can get back here on my own? I know I'm only eleven, but surely I can be safe enough in Diagon Alley, no? There's gotta be some sort of magical bus or train or something, surely we can't always travel by broom."

"Well, there's apparition and portkeys, but since you're just eleven, you'd probably have to take the Knight Bus," explained Hagrid.

"And how'd I do that?" asked Harry. It'd been long enough since he'd read the books as Richard that he'd honestly forgotten the method, though he remembered the bus itself.

"Just stick out your wand from a curb. For less than a galleon you can get most anywhere in and around London, bit more if you'd be wanting to go as far as Hogsmeade," explained Hagrid.

The pricing structure was another thing Harry, as Richard, had forgotten, "Thanks, well, I could do that, but why spend my night in an empty house that's not a home, when I can spend it here in Diagon Alley?"

Hagrid looked to be thinking mighty hard, "Well, I guess, since your aunt and uncle won't be getting 'ome anytime soon, it'll be fine for you to stay at the Cauldron."

"Will you be staying too?" asked Harry.

"Nah, I've best be gettin' back to Hogwarts," the half-giant said, patting the pocket of his coat where the Stone sat. "I'll be back in the mornin' to help you exchange your coins for muggle, sorry, mundane money."

Harry smiled at the change in Hagrid's vocabulary, "That'd be grand, thanks Hagrid."

Hagrid blushed as Harry hugged his right leg, "T'weren't nothin' 'Arry. Just logical is all."

Hagrid left Harry safe, relatively speaking, in a small private room at the Leaky Cauldron. It was well appointed and much larger than what Harry would have been sleeping in had he returned to the Dursleys. After having a small supper, leaving a surprising amount still on the place, at least in the part of Harry's mind that was still Richard, Harry retired to the room to sleep, and to plan.

After officially naming Hedwig, Harry began to sort through the books he didn't remember buying in the trunk he likewise didn't recall purchasing, also setting aside the robes that fit him much better than Dudley's cast-offs, but which Harry could not have described under Veritaserum before then. The robes were quickly utilized, at least, the slacks and shirt thereof, the actual robe was left in the trunk for more practical wear, in the mundane mind that once was called Richard Martin. He briefly flipped through the books, making a tally in his mind of what he would need to purchase, perhaps by owl post, to properly augment his magical library. Once sorted through, he realized that keeping it in him mind would do him no good, grabbed a quill, ink, and parchment, and began to make a list. The first item was a proper pen, perhaps a fountain pen as an intermediary between quill and biro. As traditional as a quill is in wizarding society, he had already made a mess at the top of the parchment in trying to write with the quill he had. With practice he wrote, in a legibility that would probably be as different from the original Harry's handwriting as from Richard's, a list of books, including The Tales of Beedle the Bard (he'd want the Deathly Hallows resource early), a few more books on magical history, primarily recent magical history, as well as some mundane books on English history, against, primarily recent history. He'd need to disguise his ignorance of local history quickly. A few books of fiction, primarily the Lord of the Rings and other fantasy, and as complete an encyclopedia as he could afford. A dictionary and thesaurus so he could distinguish his color from colour. Mundane clothes, both casual and semi-formal, and maps.

The last items on his list were as much for his sanity as for his education. He needed to find a wind-up record player, and as many of the classics of rock and roll as he could, from the Beatles to Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin to the Rolling Stones. He'd not actually heard wizarding music, but he'd be wanting something familiar. He added some classical music albums as an afterthought.

Being a computer technician in his previous life, Harry had wanted to purchase a computer, but knew that he could neither afford nor properly utilize such a device in the wizarding world. He knew he'd forgotten something else he'd want after arriving at Hogwarts, but that was why he'd be changing all be a few galleons for the Knight Bus to and from London into mundane currency. He planned on getting some more from her vault at some later date, but a hundred and thirteen galleons worth of mundane currency would have to do for now.

So, after filling more inches of parchment that he cared to count, and realizing that he was already thinking in inches of parchment rather than, say, sheets of paper, Harry went to bed. As he was going to sleep he realized two things. First, this would probably be the largest and most comfortable bed he'd sleep in until Hogwarts, if that. And second, it was larger and more comfortable than any he'd slept in throughout his previous life as Richard Martin.

Morning came with a soft knock on the door, which surprised the young wizard, who, for about a minute until he found his glasses and remembered where he was, was lost and slightly panicked. He pulled himself out of the luxurious bed, whispered an apology to Hedwig for keeping her cooped up in the cage all night, and took a quick shower in the bathroom.

It was the first time he'd looked at himself since becoming himself in Ollivander's wand shop. He was short, as was expected, and even with his air wet, it was already difficult to control. His eyes were the expected emerald green, shocking in their clarity. The scar, Tom Riddle's unintended horcrux, looked barely healed, like it was constantly irritated, which Harry guessed having a shard of the soul of the darkest wizard in modern history would do. He had a couple of ideas on how to hide it, a bandana and a baseball cap tied at the top, but Harry didn't know where he'd get either. Had it been yesterday, before he'd apparently both gone back in time and jumped into a parallel universe, Harry, as Richard, would have just gone down the street to the drugstore to pick up either, and with a choice of half a dozen colors each. In fact, Richard's favorite hat was one he'd picked up for a dollar on clearance half a dozen years ago from the same store.

So, not only was Harry lost in the magical world, but with the combination of time travel and a foreign country, he was lost in the mundane world too. "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there," Harry told himself, quoting L.P. Hartley, though he again he'd not be able to tell the source even under Veritaserum. "Especially when it really is a foreign country," he added with a chuckle.

Leaving the small bathroom and returning to the larger but still small bedroom, Harry get dressed, again wearing his new school robes, sans the actual robes, rather than the cast-offs he'd been wearing. He spent the next half out repacking his trunk, figuring out exactly where everything was in car he'd need it, and realizing that if he was going to bring as much as he wanted, not quite a full Yudkowski-style load, but still more than the original, canonical, Harry had planned, he'd be needing to get a bigger trunk.

So, after promising to bring Hedwig some bacon, Harry left his room to partake of some breakfast. The common room of the Leaky Cauldron, the actual public area of the public house that was the Leaky Cauldron, was busier than Harry remembered from the previous night, and busier than he remembered reading about as Richard when Harry first arrived. As he stepped down almost every pair of eyes, and a couple of single eyes from those less fortunate, were looking at him

"Hey," he said meekly with a wave of greeting.

It took five minutes of handshakes and "no, thank-you's" from Harry before he was left alone, relatively speaking at least, to eat his breakfast, which the Cauldron's proprietor, Tom, had given him free of charge, "in thanks". Harry guessed that it was less than the acknowledged thanks of 'killing' Tom Riddle ten years ago, and more for the unexpected uptick in the number of customers. Either way, Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse, in the this case, a gift breakfast, in the mouth. He set aside half the bacon, two of the four rashers, for Hedwig, before assaulting the traditional English Breakfast set before him. The eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast he was familiar with from his previous twenty-eight years living in America, but the eleven year old was surprised at finding fried tomatoes, mushrooms, and tea served to him, though he tried it all in turn. After his experience with supper the previous night, he made sure to try everything, knowing that his stomach was smaller than he remembered. He got through about half the plate before he was too full to continue.

As he ate, Harry listened in on the surrounding conversations, or to mis-quote Samwise Gamgee, he was "dropping eaves". Three topics dominated the morning gossip around the Leaky Cauldron. The first was himself, and was evenly split between the strange change in his accent between today and yesterday, and if he'd be staying at the Cauldron until the Hogwarts Express. The second was the break-in at Gringotts, which, as expected, the goblins had claimed hadn't been a real break-in, since the vault was emptied hours earlier, when Hagrid had removed the Stone. The third was completely unexpected, and Harry had nearly spit out his tea when he'd first heard it.

Harry, five knuts poorer, was distracted has he made him way back up to his room to wait for Hagrid. he was distracted because, dueling for attention on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ next to the article about Quirrell's escapade at Gringotts, was an article who's headline said it all, "PETTIGREW NOT DEAD, FOUND IN DEVON!"


	3. Chapter 2

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

* * *

><p>Note: Harry thinks of himself as Harry, and will only call himself Richard when contemplating events in the 'real world'. I've also tried to write Hagrid close to the way he's written in the books, but since it's a little inconsistent, I'm just doing the easy bits (you for yeh, your for yer, etc.). My Beta, Pelahnar, gave me more than what I put in, but I need to do it from the get go rather than during the revision process.<p>

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the short and sensational article on the front page of the Daily Prophet. He knew that this was the largest of the events caused by whatever sent him into the body he now occupied. Nevertheless, the story provided a few basic facts, and he was able to glean at least one hopeful (and one not so hopeful) theory as to the cause of this "butterfly".

Peter Pettigrew was discovered living disguised as a rat with a magical family in the East Devon town of Ottery St. Catchpole, "a mixed magical-muggle community" as the Prophet explained. The discovery was made late the previous afternoon, which Harry estimated to be within hours of his "arrival" upon receiving his wand. The Prophet had explained that the youngest children of the family had, after overhearing their older brothers discussing adventures at Hogwarts, realized that the family rat "Scabbers" was much too old to be a normal rat. Instead they surmised the rat might be an animagus in disguise, like Hogwarts' famous Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. Their parents, who had described their two youngest as "uncharacteristically mature", were quickly informed, and within minutes, due to the connections of the master of the house, a group of Aurors had come out and captured the illegal animagus. They revealed him to be Peter Pettigrew, famous for receiving the Order of Merlin - First Class following the defeat of You-Know-Who by the Boy-Who-Lived eleven years ago, thought to be murdered by the infamous betrayer Sirius Black. The Aurors were asked, as a favor to the youngest children, to ask, under Truth Serum if necessary, about the events leading up to and following the Dark Lord's defeat, including the murder of, and again quoting the Prophet, "a round dozen muggles."

Harry had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't from the blood sausage. He'd read enough fan fiction in his previous life that he knew that there were two possibilities when it came to the "youngest children", who were obviously Ron and Ginny Weasley. The first — and almost exclusively used by the fan fiction community — was that Ron and Ginny had the minds of their older selves, sent back in time by some ritual or incantation — possibly using the magic or Atlantis and/or Merlin. The second — and almost unheard-of in the fan fiction community, but given Harry's personal experience, the more likely of the two — was that Ron and Ginny had the minds of people, who much like Richard, came from a world where the Harry Potter books were fiction. He could only assume, since the Prophet didn't mention that their accents had changed like Harry's had, that the 'youngest children' were British. How the mechanics that put his London-born, Denver-raised, twenty-eight year old mind into the body an elven-year old who'd never left England, Harry could only guess.

After feeding the bacon to Hedwig Harry grabbed a quill, ink, and parchment he'd stashed at the top of his trunk in case of familial problems and began to write a letter to Ron and Ginny Weasley.

Dear Ronald and Ginerva Weasley,

You may not know me, but…

Harry stopped writing after his terrible introduction. He would require paper, pencil, and a few hours of work, before deciding to put quill back to parchment and write the final draft of the important letter. What he really wanted was his old laptop and a connection to the internet, not to send an e-mail or anything, but because he liked the easy access to knowledge. As he realized that not only would any laptop he bought today be slow ad bulky, but the internet as he knew it wouldn't exist for a decade and a half. "I guess I should've payed more attention in that writing class," he told himself as he put the ink and quill back in the trunk and tossed the used parchment in the fireplace. A knock came at his door mere moments after the last of the parchment was ash. Harry shouted at the thick wooden door, "Who is it?"

"It's me, 'Arry," came the gruff voice of the half-giant groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid.

"Ah, Hagrid," said Harry, pulling open the door. "I was half expecting you to come down here with the Headmaster."

Hagrid looked at Harry with an expression of disbelief, "Now why would I do that?"

Harry shook his head. He knew that the confrontation with the Headmaster was coming, probably as soon as the news of his "unfortunate" change in accent became known. Hopefully it wouldn't be until he got to Hogwarts, though if he pushed his issue with the Dursleys too far, it might come sooner rather than later. "Well, what with the break-in at Gringotts and all. The vault - it was the one you cleared out 'on Hogwarts business', right?" Before Hagrid could deny it, Harry added, "No need to confirm nor deny, I was there. It'll stay my secret."

"Thank yeh 'Arry," said Hagrid with a wan smile. "Off to Gingotts, and then get yeh back home?"

Harry sighed, "I fear I'll never be going home again Hagrid."

"What? Did summat 'appen to yer aunt and uncle?" asked Hagrid, hoping that abandoning them on the islet wasn't the wrong thing to do.

"No, it's just… The Dursleys never gave me a home. I think the last place I could call home was when I was living with my parents," said Harry. It was the truth, if not the whole truth. Even as an adult, Richard hadn't felt at home in any of the apartments he lived in, not like at the house he grew up in. "Like I said, they're bigots just like the Malfoys and their lot."

"But Dumbledore said yeh'd be safe there," said Hagrid.

"And who's Dumbledore to say where I'll be safe? He's a Headmaster, and quite a powerful wizard, but what gave him the right to put me there? Surely he knew that they hated wizards with the fiery passion of a thousand suns, right?" This was one of the things that he always wondered about, how Dumbledore got the say to put Harry with the Dursleys. "Did he even do it legally?"

"I'm not sure," said Hagrid tentatively. "Professor Dumbledore's a great man, he always does the righ' thing."

"Tries, Hagrid. He tries to do the right thing. There's a difference. But, that's a matter for another time, another place, and with said Headmaster in attendance. Like you said: money changing, and then back to the Number Four for me," said Harry. "Though, I think I spent more here at the Cauldron that I expected, so I might need to stop by my vault as well."

"Come now, I made sure yeh had enough for a few terms o' books," countered Hagrid.

"Yes, but that's for books. This is for living. Remember, I don't have a family that supports me, I'm practically on my own. I don't want to show up at Hogwarts with only three sets of clothes," complained Harry. He'd been away from home for so long, and hadn't needed to beg for new clothes even then, that he was severely out of practice. "Look, it's my money, I can do with it what I please. Plus, it's just mundane money, it's not like I can get anything truly dangerous, right?" Harry knew it wasn't right to play on Hagrid's prejudices, but it was for a better cause, right?

The half-giant nodded after thinking for a while, "That'll be all righ', 'Arry. That should be fine indeed."

Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "So, Gringotts?"

"All righ' 'Arry," replied Hagrid.

"I'll just leave my luggage here," said Harry. "No need to lug it all the way through Diagon then all the way back. Plus, I've got the room for a couple more hours."

Hagrid nodded.

Harry closed the door before an indignant hoot was heard, and he winced. "I'll be right back," he told Hagrid, before heading back into the room.

"Sorry girl, I forgot," he said, as he first opened the window, and then opened Hedwig's cage. "Go have a good day. I know you're normally nocturnal, but since you're a post owl, well, I'm not exactly sure what's going on with that. We'll figure it out eventually, eh?"

Hedwig gave Harry a look that was surprisingly knowing, ducked her head in what could only be interpreted as a nod, and flew out the window.

"Sorry about that, forgot to let Hedwig out," said Harry upon rejoining the half-giant.

"Yeh named her already?" asked Hagrid. "'Edwig's a beautiful name."

"Yeah, well, it felt like I couldn't call her anything else," Harry replied truthfully.

The pair walked down to the common room of the Cauldron, and after a nod to Tom, the proprietor, Hagrid once again stepped into the back lot, tapped the brick, and opened the way to Diagon Alley.

"Why not just leave it open?" asked Harry.

"Leave it open? But, then, how'd we impress young muggle-borns?" Hagrid chuckled.

"And those raised in the mundane world, don't forget," added Harry. He knew it would take ages, if ever, before he could get people to stop using muggle as a name for mundane humans. As they walked down the Alley, and about halfway to Gingotts, Harry had an inspiration, "So, what can you tell me about how my parents died?"

Hargrid paused, then turned around at his young charge, "Is this abou' the Prophet?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, there was mention of him being involved somehow in their deaths."

"Well, Sirius Black, he was a friend o' yer parents, or so he claimed. The three o' them, yer dad, Sirius, an' Peter, they were friends back at Hogwarts. Pranksters, they were. After they graduated, they helped out in the War."

"Against Voldemort?" asked Harry for clarification. Hagrid, and a couple of older ladies that were eavesdropping, winced. "It's just a name. He's a terrorist, and if he makes you afraid, then he's won."

Hagrid looked thoughful for a fraction of a second, then continued, "Well, the three o' 'em, plus yer mum, an' another friend, Remus, they all helped out Dumbledore during the War." Again, Harry could hear the capitalization. Hagrid continued, "Jus' before yeh was born, they went into hiding from Voldemort."

Although knew that this was because of the prophecy he didn't expect Hagrid to know the why's and what-for's. He asked anyway, "Why'd they go into hiding?"

"You-know-who…"

"Voldemort," interrupted Harry. "It's just a name, and not even his real one."

"Him, well, he wanted yeh bad, wanted to kill yeh, so yer parents, they took you into hiding. Were safe for fifteen months they were, until Halloween of Eighty-one, when He finally caught up with them. They thought they were safe, Sirius was their secret-keeper, the only one who knew where they were. He betrayed yer parents, told Him where y'were. He came for yeh, killed yer mum and dad an' then He tried ter kill you. That's where the scar came from." Hagrid pointed to the lightning-bolt shaped scar above Harry's right eye. "That morning, Dumbledore sent me ter get yeh, but Sirius, he was already there. Handed you t'me himself, then mumbled about getting 'that rat bastard', an' apparated away, leavin' me his bike. So, I took yeh to yer aunt an' uncle. Dumbledore took you outta my arms an' put yeh on the steps himself. Well, that night, after you were dropped off, Sirius, he found Peter in a crowd of muggles. Sirius blew up Peter, leaving only a finger an' twelve dead muggles behind."

"But Peter's alive, right?" asked Harry. "They found him, and if Peter's alive, perhaps that's not how it happened? Maybe they could re-try Sirius now that Peter's been found, at least, they can acquit him of Pettigrew's murder. Plus, if he betrayed my parents, why'd he give me to you in the first place?"

Hagrid thought for a moment, "Mebbe, but, I don' rightly think he got a trial in the firs' place."

"Wait," asked Harry pausing in the middle of the Alley as over a dozen years of aggravation at one of the dumbest plot points in the book series welled up. "He never got a trial? How can he be in prison, how can he be thought of as such an evil man, if he never got a trial? Is Wizarding Law that much different?"

"It was righ' after You… Him, the War, an' all. People jus' wanted ter get back to normal."

"That's the excuse? You just said he was going to go after 'that rat bastard', and I assume you've read the _Prophet_ this morning, so you know that Peter was a rat animagus, and obviously, wasn't killed in that explosion. My godfather, who didn't kill Peter and might not have killed the muggles, or betrayed my parents, has been sitting in Azkaban, surrounded by dementors, for a bloddy decade?" asked Harry, gesturing wildly and nearly yelling at Hagrid. "Ten years! Ten years, no trial, and no proof that he actually committed any crime! If he didn't kill Peter, what else has he been accused of that he might not have done? Did he really kill those muggles? Did he really betray my parents? Was he even the secret keeper at all? If '_everybody knew_' he was the secret keeper, wouldn't that make the secret _less_ secure?"

Harry took a couple of deep breaths after his rant. Hagrid looked down at the eleven year old boy with a look that Harry couldn't place, somewhere between "who the heck is this kid?" and "you know, he has a point there".

"You done?" asked Hagrid with a smile. "Looked like that took a bit more out of you than yeh expected."

"A bit, yeah," admitted Harry. "So, Gringotts? I can ask the government to pardon… No, wait… To actually fraking try, my godfather some other time. Today, we change my galleons into pounds, and then, I go back to the Dursleys." He said the last word with a shudder, not that Hagrid was looking at him to notice.

A few minutes later they arrived at Gingotts. It was much closer to the image Harry had in his mind from reading the books than the much smaller representation from the movies. It was an enormous building, being raised in America, Harry instantly compared it to the Lincoln Memorial, and the memorial was found lacking. The wide staircase lead up to the marble colonnade, behind which were the infamous bronze doors with the words of warning in six inch high letters. Harry was lead, for the second time in twenty-four hours, and for the first time in his life, up the stairs to those same doors, and then through the silver ones beyond them, before finally coming inside the bank proper.

Harry stopped, looking around in awe. He'd been in quite a few banks, and more than a few museums and government buildings, including the aforementioned Lincoln Memorial. None of them quite compared, at least on an individual level, to the lobby of Gringotts. The space was larger than a football field (American or Association), and he could see doorways leading off into the depths of the bank (both figuratively, and in Gingotts' case, literally). Even looking up at the grand ceiling with it's sweeping fresco, which was moving as any magical painting did, Harry could tell that there was more space above him that was accounted for being the limits of the exterior roofline.

"'Arry!" shouted Hagrid from a few meters away, having stopped when he realized he wasn't being followed.

"Sorry," said Harry with a blush. He quickly tried to mollify the half-giant, "It's bigger on the inside, isn't it?"

"Undetectable enlargement charms," explained Hagrid. "For a moment there, I thought you'd forgotten coming here yesterday, yeh stared almost the exact same way."

"Ah, well, it's still a bit jarring. It's just, well, most — well, actually _all_ — mundane buildings, are the same size on the inside as on the out, or a bit smaller to account for the structure of the building. I guess it didn't hit me yesterday, what with all the other wonderful things I was seeing. I'll probably have the same reaction the next dozen times or so. One day, I might actually get used to it, but I doubt it," explained Harry in a web of lies, truths, and guesses. In his previous life, he'd been amazed at large spaces, the engineering of it, though, perhaps that wasn't the right word for the Wizarding World.

"No matter, we'll jus' talk ter the teller over here, an' be on our way," said Hagrid, pointing to one of the dozens, possibly over a hundred, goblin tellers sitting behind the long counter that dominated the back half of the lobby. Again, the movies were a far cry from the reality. After the walk across the open space, they arrived at the counter and Harry was again reminded of how short he now was. Shorter even than he'd been the last time he was eleven, a probable side effect of the malnutrition caused by the neglect of the Dursleys, though if he remembered his canon correctly, Lily was rather petite. Harry could be taking after her as well.

"We need ter change some money," said Hagrid to the goblin.

"How much, and which way?" asked the goblin with a scowl.

Harry smiled, having quickly put the matter of the diminutive being to the back of his mind, "All of it, from wizarding to mundane." He put the sack of gold, silver, and bronze on the counter, and pushed it over to the goblin. "By the way, what's the exchange rate?"

The goblin ignored Harry for a moment, as he took the bag of coins and poured them out on the counter between them. With a wave of his hand the coins were sorted into three piles, the smallest pile being of the largest coins, the bronze knuts. The knuts were about the same size as an American fifty cent piece, though thicker, nearly twice as thick, closer to the Pound, and each was the familiar color of a penny, the older ones even slightly green. One side of the coin, which a numismatist, or someone who had spent way too much time on Wikipedia, such as Harry, would call the obverse, was struck with the profile of a wizard wearing the stereotypical pointed hat (as example of which Harry had found, and left, in the bottom of his trunk along with his robes). The other side, the reverse, was struck with an antelope of some kind. Along with the wizard, the obverse was struck with the name 'Gringotts' and the year of minting, the youngest Harry saw was from 1950, and the oldest, and most green, was struck with the year 751. The newest coin was marked as "1/4 ozt 970", which Harry, again from having spent way too much time on the Internet, recognized was the weight and fineness, though how one graded the fineness of bronze, Harry couldn't fathom.

The middle pile, in location, quantity, and size of coins, though not that much more, and not that much smaller, was for the silver sickles. The sickles weren't as thick, nor as wide as the knuts, reminding Harry of a dollar coin, either the obscure Susan B. Anthony's, or a silver colored Sacajawea or Presidential dollar (which were all the same size anyway), though similar to the knut, it was thicker than the American coin, though not quite as thick as the knut. The obverse was similar to the knut's, while the reverse was a classical rendition of a griffin. From what Harry could quickly read, he spotted dates ranging from 1983 on the shiniest, and 908 on the most tarnished. Again, the newest coin, but not the oldest coin, was marked with a weight and fineness, "1/4 ozt 958".

The largest pile was of the smallest coins, the gold galleons. The galleons were tiny, much smaller than the knuts or sickles, smaller even than an American Dime. The obverse was the same, with the reverse being a minuscule engraving of a dragon, in a more medieval than modern art style. The dates were smaller, and thus harder to see, but when he'd been looking through he coins the night before, he'd noticed the oldest was from the 8th century, 784, while the newest was nearly ninety years old, having been minted in 1912. Unlike the knuts and sickles, the gold content of the galleon was both smaller and less pure, at "1/10 ozt 917".

After sorting, but seemingly without counting, the coins the goblin proclaimed, "You've got twenty-three knuts, forty-seven sickles, and one-hundred five galleons. To answer your question, based on last-month's average spot price, the exchange rate is twenty-one pounds sixty to the galleon, With the locked exchange rates of seventeen sickles per galleon, and four-hundred ninety-three knuts per galleon, per the Wizarding Currency Act of 1735, that makes two-thousand, three-hundred twenty-eight pounds," the goblin, ignoring Harry's surprise, then continued, "after our exchange fees, five percent, you've got two-thousand, two-hundred twelve pounds twenty-nine."

The goblin looked up from the abacus it was working the maths on, "How would you like that?"

Harry was momentarily speechless, amazed at how rich he actually was. Two thousand pounds was a lot of money, whether in 2012 or 1991, and it was now his. If he remembered correctly, the exchange rate was about a buck fifty to two bucks a pound, so his seven galleon wand cost him, doing the math in his head, about a hundred fifty pounds, so, two twenty-five to three hundred dollars. No wonder the Weasleys couldn't afford to buy Ron a new wand. He then remembered reading that Rowling had written in one of the ancillary books, the Quidditch one, that the exchange rate was closer to five pounds to the galleon, about a quarter of the actual rate. He guessed that only the main books were considered "true" when he became Harry Potter the previous afternoon.

"Wow," he finally said, shaking himself from his ruminations. "Um, can I get that in twenties?" He smiled at the goblin, who swept the coins off the counter, and then wrote a quick note on a scrap of parchment, before handing it off to another goblin.

"This will take a few minutes, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you'd like to have a seat?" said the Goblin, gesturing at a grouping of chairs a few meters away, and a quarter of the way between the counter and the far wall.

"Thank you," Harry croaked, before turning and heading to the chairs.

"I take it that it was more than yeh expected?" asked Hagrid with a chuckle.

"A bit, yeah. I was thinking I'd be getting slightly less than five hundred," sighed Harry. He looked down at his hands as he pulled the small keychain from his pocket. He'd found it the previous night while divesting himself of Dudley's cast-offs. It had only two keys, a modern one he assumed was for Number Four, and an ancient looking bronze one that he assumed was for his vault, as well as a broken compass as a fob. He looked at the keys, which conveniently represented the two parts of Harry Potter's life, the mundane world, and the Wizarding World; Number Four Privet Drive, and his Gringotts Vault.

"So you'll not be needing ter get more from yer vault then?"

"No, not right now," said Harry with a short laugh of his own.

A few minutes later Harry was awoken from his thoughts by a not-so-gentle tap on his shoulder from Hagrid.

"Oh," said Harry, looking up and seeing a female goblin holding a silver tray with a bundle of banknotes and a smaller stack of loose notes, as well as some coins. "Thank you," said Harry, as he took the bundle first. He quickly fanned through the bills, noting that, as expected, they were all twenty pound notes. He'd not been to England in nearly a decade, and even then it was only so that he could attend his grandmother's funeral, and so he'd forgotten how different the money was. He pocketed the bundle of bills, realizing that he was putting two thousand pounds in his pocket. He chuckled, though it was was almost a giggle, at the thought.

"Everything all right?" the female goblin asked. Harry noticed the disdain goblins had for wizard's coloring her words, daring him to admit that something, anything, was amiss.

"Fine, sorry, just, well, never dealt with this much cash before, bit nerve wracking you know," he replied, picking up the loose bills. A quick count revealed the expected ten twenties and three fives, the two-hundred ten above the two-thousand that rested next to his wand in his left pocket.

The bills went into the well-worn wallet than Harry expected was a hand-me-down from Dudley, a wallet which was empty except for his NHS card and his old primary school ID. He thought that he didn't really need either one now that he was within the Wizarding World but kept them anyway, just in case (five years as a Boy Scout had permanently entrenched the motto of 'Be Prepared' into his psyche). After slipping the wallet back into his back pocket he grabbed the coins, two pounds, a twenty pence, a five pence, and a pair of two pence coins. Harry put them in his right front pocket with the spartan keychain. Harry bowed to the goblin respectfully, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said with slightly less contempt than before. She then tucked the silver tray under her arm, turned on her left heel, and strode away from Harry and Hagrid.

"Interesting folk," quipped Harry as he watched the retreating goblin.

"We'd best be off now 'Arry. I've gotta be getting back t'Hogwarts, an' you back ter yer Aunt and Uncle's," said Hagrid, standing up and tucking his pink umbrella under his arm. How he hid his snapped wand in it and, more importantly, _got away with it_, Harry couldn't guess.

With a shrug, and making sure he had everything, bundle of cash and wand in his left pocket, keys and coins in his right, and wallet on his right in the back, he followed Hagrid out of Gringotts and up to the Leaky Cauldron. After picking up his trunk, which had Hedwig's empty cage inside, since she was out flying, hopefully to Number Four, he went back downstairs to the common room.

"You sure she'll be fine?" asked Harry as the two of them walked back down Diagon Alley a few minutes later.

" 'Edwig? She'll find yeh. Owls always find their wizard, post wouldn't work any other way, now would it?"

"Guess not," said Harry, as he followed the half-giant out of the pub and into London. "Um, how exactly does Owl Post work?"

"You write the name, and an address if yeh want, of the witch or wizard on the envelope, tie it ter the owl's leg, and off she goes," explained Hagrid.

"Ah," said Harry, surprised at how easy it was. It would make his eventual letter to the Weasleys, and hopefully a couple of other potential allies, much easier to deliver, though not any easier to actually compose.

* * *

><p>It'd been a decade, and would be another ten years in the future, since, and before, Harry, as Richard, had last been, or would last be, in London. Harry paused for a second trying to figure out the proper tenses on his thoughts before dismissing it and catching up with Hagrid, who's large bulk parted the passers by quite efficiently.<p>

"Yudkowsky was right, English doesn't have the right words to describe time travel," he said softly to himself. "Nor time travel mixed with dimension hopping with a splash of alternate history just for the hell of it," he added with a smile.

The mismatched pair proceeded south, Hagird carrying Harry's trunk, and Harry gawking like a tourist. At least, Harry assumed it was south. Even after practically memorizing a street map of London on a long trans-Atlantic flight ten years past/hence, Harry still didn't understand how London's streets were organized, let alone practicably navigated. Give him a nice grid layout any day, not the chaotic winding roads of the ancient city.

Harry was surprised when they passed the Leicaster Square Tube station, and continued south. He'd thought that the books had described taking the subway to Paddington, and then rail from there to Surrey. "Um, Hagrid, where are we going?"

"Well, Professor Dumbledore told me that yeh were ter take the train out of Paddington station t'Slough, he said yeh can then take the bus from there down ter Little Whinging," explained Hagrid.

"Gotcha," Harry said, feigning comprehension. Little Whinging he knew, and the only Paddington he remembered was a stuffed bear from an old children's book, so, confused, he asked, "So… we're getting to Paddington how exactly?"

"Dumbledore said ter go from Charing Cross t'Paddington," said Hagrid,

"And how far is Charing Cross?" asked Harry, having identified the road they were walking down was, in fact, Charing Cross Road

"He said we jus' walk down Charing Cross Road, an' if we get ter Trafalgar we've gone too far," replied Hagrid.

Harry realized that, while those directions would work, they wouldn't work well. With nothing to lose he shrugged and looked around. Upon spotting a friendly looking older woman he went over and tugged at the sleeve of her coat, "Excuse me?"

"Yes?" the woman asked, surprised at Harry's interruption.

"Sorry, but, I'm trying to get to Charing Cross station, well, actually, I'm trying to get to Little Whinging, but Charing Cross is my first step. Am I headed the right way?" he asked, pointing south, towards where Hagrid has stopped.

"Oh yes, quite. Just keep headed south, and turn left at Saint Martin's. That's on Duncannon, and it'll take you right to Charing Cross," the woman said, after looking around to orient herself.

"Thanks," Harry said with a smile.

"You're quite welcome young man," the woman said, returning Harry's smile.

Harry caught up to Hagrid, and then, now that he knew where he was going, lead the way. As he walked, he wished he had his camera, or any camera for that matter, but then he realized that, since he had two thousand quid in his pants pocket, it wouldn't be that hard to come down here later in the month and 'play' tourist.

The trip out to Little Whinging was longer and more circuitous than Harry had expected. After taking the Tube from Charing Cross to Paddington, Hagrid put him on the train to Slough, from there, instead of taking the bus like Dumbledore expected, Harry took a taxi, and was delivered directly to the front door of Number Four. It was, as expected, perfectly ordinary, though much closer to Heathrow than he'd expected. Harry could hear the planes taking off and landing less than a mile away to the north.

"Um, is there a better way from Charing Cross to get here than through Slough?" Harry asked the taxi driver as he paid his fair, letting the driver keep most of the change as a tip.

"Yeah, don't know why you did it that way, mate. Should'a gone to Waterloo, then taken the train down to Greater Whining. It's about a mile as the crow flies, 'bout a mile and a half by road. You wouldn't even half to get a ride if you're up for the walk," the cabbie explained.

"Thanks," said Harry, ducking his head back out of the cab, and shutting the door. The taxi rolled away as Harry turned and looked at where he'd decided, not twelve hours before, he'd never go: Number Four Privet Drive. He sighed heavily, shrugged, and walked up to the front door, and the hell that was the Dursleys.


	4. Chapter 3

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Chapter 3**

Harry scowled, "What am I doing here? I told myself, just last night, and again this morning, that I wouldn't come here. And what do I do? As soon as Hagrid tells me to go, I go, like a good little boy. Well, frak that, and frak the Dursleys." He then shrugged, and was beginning to turn around in the drive when the door of Number Four opened, revealing the corpulent personage of Vernon Dursley, "And where do you think you're going?"

Harry ignored Vernon and kept walking, pausing just long enough at the curb to figure out the best way to get south to the train station the cabbie had mentioned in Greater Whinging.

"Don't walk away when I'm talking to you boy!" shouted Vernon, stepping out on the front stoop where, not ten years before, he'd discovered his nephew wrapped up in a blanket with a letter.

Harry resisted the urge to vent at Vernon. He didn't know the Dursleys, and truly, they had never done anything to him. But, his legal guardian, at least, his proper wizarding guardian, was likely to be released now that Wormtail was captured, and he'd be able to live with Sirus. It wasn't quite the same as his old apartment, or a flat he could rent (if he was older), or a proper house, but it would serve him well while attending Hogwarts and preparing to defeat Riddle.

Vernon followed Harry out to the curb, shouting after him, "You get back here this instant! I'll not have you and the rest of those freaks making any more trouble. I don't care what that giant of a man said, you're going to Stonewall High. Come back here so I can punish you!"

Obviously the old Harry would never run away from Vernon, let alone calmly walk away from his uncle. Eventually Vernon gave up on shouting after Harry, probably because Harry had walked off of Privet Drive and onto Wisteria Walk. As he left Privet Drive behind him, a confident smile crept across his face, "Well… I wonder what old Dumbly-dore will do know? The whole block probably heard that, so I wonder how long Mrs. Figg will take to pass along the information. And where will Albus look for me, I wonder. The Leaky Cauldron probably, since Hagrid would swear it was the only place he'd taken me. I wonder if I could get a room at a nice hotel instead. Nah, no ID, nothing that make me look like anything but a runaway."

"Should I be talking to myself?" he asked himself as he drug his trunk behind him, thanking God and Rowling that it had wheels. "Ah, what does it matter. I'm stuck in a young adult novel, how much crazier can I get?"

Half an hour later a very tired eleven-year old drug himself into the small Greater Whining train station, it's walls a plain and surprisingly bright white in the rare August sun.

"You all right?" asked the thirty-something woman behind the counter.

"Fine," said Harry, gasping for breath. "Bit longer of a walk that I expected. Would have called a cab, but, well, no cell phone… or do you call them mobiles over here?"

The woman looked slightly confused at the apparently American boy's surprisingly mature tone. "Did you need me to call a taxi for you?"

Harry shook his head, "Nah, I'm where I'm supposed to be. Well, not exactly, but close enough. The taxi driver said that I could get a train from here into… Waterloo I think he said."

"Yes sir," said the station attendant with a smile, "We've got trains to Waterloo four times an hour."

Harry smiled and he stretched, raising his arms above his head and rolling his back side to side, "Sorry, wasn't expecting a workout today. So, four times an hour. Makes things convenient."

Thee minutes later, Harry drug his trunk out onto the platform, ticket in hand. He sat down on his trunk as he waited. About two minutes later, and five before his train was set to arrive, he heard an oddly familiar cry from the sky. With a smile, he looked and spotted a large snowy owl, Hedwig, diving out of the sky.

"Sorry girl," he said as he carefully landed on his outstretched arm, "I made you fly all the way out here, and now I'm going right back." He chuckled, looked around to make sure no one actually saw him talking to an owl, and continued, "I'll probably stay back at the Cauldron tonight, but I'll be heading to a regular hotel tomorrow morning. I'm not sure how we'll deal with it. Maybe I'll try to get a balcony and you can visit me there. That sound good?"

With an intelligence that frankly no longer surprised him, Hedwig seemed to nod and then spread her wings. As Harry extended his arm, she flew off, headed back the way she came. As Hedwig flew out of sight he wondered if she'd beat him there.

* * *

><p>Not four hours after leaving the Leaky Cauldron following Hagrid, Harry walked back in.<p>

"Hello Harry," said Tom the publican, "Didn't expect to see you back so soon."

Harry shrugged and lied to the kindly barkeep, "Didn't expect to get kicked out either."

"Kicked out?" Tom asked, surprised. "Who'd what to kick out the Boy-who-lived?"

Rolling his eyes, "Tom, I told you not to call me that, it's just Harry, or Mr. Potter if you insist, but to answer you question with another question, would your average pureblood want to host a muggle?"

"That bad?" asked Tom.

"Yeah, my uncle's as much a muggle supremacist," he hated using the word, but it was easier than explaining 'mundane' to Tom, for the third time, "as the Malfoys – for example – are pureblood supremacists. They treated me like a house elf."

Tom looked pale at the comparison, "So, you'll be staying here until the first?"

"Yeah, or there a bouts. I had hoped to stay in a muggle hotel, but then I realized that, unlike here in the wizarding world, out there I'm a nobody… an eleven year old nobody. Here I'm famous, and you can contact the Headmaster or someone else if there's a problem or I don't leave for the Express. Plus, the Cauldron makes an excellent base of operations for my plans to see London. I've lived here my entire life, well, out in Surrey, but I've never _done_ London, seen the sights, done the museums, that sort of thing. Plus, I've got to get some more clothes, and some books too. Not to diminish Madam Malkin or Flourish and Blotts, but I've been raised muggle, and I'm a bit more comfortable in a nice pair of jeans and a t-shirt than a robe."

Tom nodded in understanding, "I did the muggle tourist gig the summer after my seventh year. Never thought to do it before going to Hogwarts, but then, I never thought much of muggles before going to Hogwarts either, but after I got the Muggle OWL, seemed like the right thing to do, plus, we get the occasional muggle who stumbles into the pub, and knowing about the wider world helps in those situations."

"Well, I'll need a room, but, I was a bit impulsive, and changed all my money for pounds this morning, so I'll need to change it back, or better yet, get some more from my vault, if I'm to pay you," explained Harry, who then looked at his trunk, which in the small confines of the pub, and the alley beyond, without Hagrid along to make way, would be difficult to maneuver.

"Ah, well, just leave your trunk here. It'll be fine. If the same room's fine I'll even have it sent up for you," offered Tom.

Harry nodded his thanks, "That'd be grand Tom. I'll see you later then." He made his way out into the back yard of the Leaky Cauldron, which doubled as the true entrance to Diagon Alley. After staring at the wall with wand in hand for five minutes, trying to remember which brick opened the archway, he ducked back inside, "Um, Tom, which brick is it again, first time on my own, you know?"

"Third up, two in from the black brick above the trash can," explained Tom.

"Thanks," came Harry's reply before ducking back into the yard, finding the aforementioned brick, and topping it with his wand.

Although he'd seen it the first time just that morning when Hagrid took him back into Diagon Alley to change his money, Harry was still amazed at how the archway worked. He had momentarily thought about putting on a robe, to fit in, but realized that he'd already popped back into the pub once to ask for directions, and didn't want to seem too immature for forgetting his robe. Better to ignore it for now and look the fool, claiming that he wasn't used to it and hadn't thought about it, than to confirm it by admitting his _faux pas_.

The walk down the Alley was slower than that morning, as Harry really took the time to take it all in, not having to keep up with Hagrid, nor hide that it was his first, now second, time down the Alley. He noticed a couple of side streets, the infamous Knockturn Alley, but also Social Alley, which seemed to be lined with restaurants and a single theatre. After having been outside Diagon, in the mundane world, he realized that, like Hermione's beaded bags, and the mokeskin pouch, Diagon Alley was bigger than what would be contained by the block it sat in.

Harry found himself, once again, outside of Gringotts, having been distracted on his journey by the dimensionally transcendent architecture. He walked up the stairs, through the doors, and back into the lobby of the Goblin bank.

"Ah, back so soon, Mr. Potter?" asked one of the goblins. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought it was the one that helped him change his money.

"Yes, I seem to have been a bit hasty this morning, changing all my galleons to pounds. So, I need to make a withdrawal from my vault," said Harry.

"Ah, yes, we were wondering if you'd regret that. Sure you don't want to just change the pounds back to gold?" asked the Goblin.

"While I'm sure you'd love to take another five percent, which would be well earned no doubt, since I'm going to be spending most of the month out in muggle London I'll be needing that, possibly more. So, I'll just get some galleons as supplement for my time here in the Alley," explained Harry.

"A shrewd move, Mr. Potter," the goblin said with a scowl. "Griphook! Mr. Potter needs to return to his vault!"

Surprised that he was getting the same goblin that he'd gotten the first time, not that he remembered it outside of the books and movies, Harry waited for the goblin, who looked nothing like Warwick Davis, as expected, since he looked nothing like an eleven-year old Daniel Radcliffe.

"Hello Griphook," said Harry.

"Forget something, Mr. Potter?" the surly goblin asked.

"Yes, thank you for asking," said Harry, realizing that, no matter how he acted, goblins would never be particularly nice to any wizard.

"To your vault then, again?"

"Yes, thank you. It seems that I'll be spending some more time and gold, in Diagon Alley than I had initially budgeted, due to unforeseen circumstances at my former place of residence," Harry explained, trying to be as verbose as possible just for the sake of it.

"You sound different," Griphook noted as he lead Harry to the waiting cart.

"Wand accident," lied Harry as he got into the cart. "Happened to me right as my wand found me. I think it did something to my mind as well, since I'm thinking a bit differently than I did before… I think."

"I didn't ask," the goblin said, releasing the break, and sending Harry down what, as Rowling had described, was more akin to a roller coaster than a mine cart ride. A few minutes later the cart slowed to a stop in front of a vault. "Your key?"

Harry climbed out and handed his keychain to Griphook, who returned it after unlocking the vault.

Unlike the first time, and assuming it was because of the relatively short time between yesterday and today, no fog billowed from the vault as Harry stepped in. He stepped in and went to grab some galleons before pausing and stepping back to the entrance.

Sticking his head out of the vault he asked, "Um… Griphook… I seem to have forgotten to grab any sort of bag. You got any in that cart of yours?"

With a scowl Griphook pulled a rough cloth sack out of the cart and stepped over to the vault, "That'll be three sickles Mr. Potter."

With a smile Harry ducked back into the vault, grabbed four of the silver coins, and handed them to the goblin, "Here you are, and an extra sickle for your time." After receiving the sack, Harry returned to the vault and loaded it up. He knew that the month at the Leaky Cauldron would be a couple dozen galleons, but he had more plans than just a roof over his head, and so, thinking that he could always change the excess into pounds if he needed it, or just chuck it into the bottom of his trunk, he put about four hundred of the gold coins into the sack, about a dozen handfuls of the small gold coins. After taking a last look, and estimating that he was, as expected, filthy sticking rich. Even the small portion of his wealth in the sack was more than he'd made the last three months, back when he was Richard. A quick estimate, learned from his time in geometry class in high school, and reminded a couple of years ago, and nearly two decades hence, by his first and favorite fan fiction, _The Methods of Rationality_, gave him about five million galleons or so in the vault, which equated to about a hundred million pounds, more than he'd ever hope to make in his previous life, even if it included a lottery win.

"Thank you Griphook. I think I got enough, but, as you know, I probably underestimated again, but, I can always come back," said Harry with a smile as he stepped back into the cart, the vault sealing itself behind him.

"Of course, Mr. Potter," the goblin said, and they sped back up to ground level.

* * *

><p>Once more loaded with coins, Harry left Gringotts and headed back up the Alley to the Leaky Cauldron. He stopped halfway when he saw a magical luggage shop, and a small leather pouch on a velvet cushion behind the glass. A mokeskin punch, just like what Hagrid would have given him in a few years time, in a different timeline. Thinking that it was a much better option than the goblin sack for securing his gold, much more convenient than hauling the trunk hither and yon, and wanting to have as much fun as Harry Potter-Evans-Verres, walked into the shop. Unlike for the aforementioned fictional character, the shopkeep was not a young woman wearing faded yellow robes, but was, instead, a stereotypical wizened old man, though not exactly mysterious looking.<p>

"Welcome to Heward and Sons: Bags, Trunks, and More," said the wizard behind the counter. He then looked at Harry closer, "Ah, Mr. Potter, so nice of you to return."

"Ah, yes," said Harry, surprised that the proprietor had remembered him, since he hadn't remembered the store mentioned in the books, though, now that he thought about it, 'Heward and Sons' had been emblazoned on the inside of his trunk. "I've discovered that I'm in need of more luggage than just my trunk, since I'll be spending more time in London than I had initially expected."

"Ah, so, what kind of luggage are you looking for today, Mr. Potter?" the wizard, possible Heward or one of his sons, as he walked around the counter. "A new trunk, perhaps? One that's a big bigger on the inside? Or a nice belt pouch? I noticed that you saw our mokeskin pouch in the window. Or perhaps something else?"

Harry bit his lip, he really didn't want to quite pull a full Yudkowski, but since he was already here, and he had the money. "Well, the mokeskin is what caught my interest, but do you have something a bit less, losable?"

"Losable, Mr. Potter?" asked the wizard.

"Well, I wouldn't want it to fall off my belt, and since I'll be in London proper, not just here in the Alley, I'll be needing something a bit more… normal looking. Perhaps something like a backpack?" Harry replied.

"Ah, yes, we have just the thing," the man said, turning and stepping over to a display of bags on the wall. He selected and pulled down a leather backpack, and upon seeing it, Harry smiled. "This is one of my grandfather's signature items, a never-full rucksack. Undetectable Extension Charm, of course, Self-repairing, naturally, and with a verbal or non-verbal retrieval charm, though, unlike a genuine mokeskin pouch, it's usable by anyone, not just the wizard who put the item inside." The saleswizard, after giving his pitch, handed the backpack to Harry.

"It's a bit heavier than I expected," Harry said. It was about twice as heavy as his coin-loaded sack.

"Ah, but it'll never get heavier, it won't. No matter what you put in, it'll stay half a stone. No more, no less," the man declared.

"Does it have a capacity limit?" Harry asked.

"Not practically, though unlike some of our more premium luggage, it's not got the Widening Lip," the sales-wizard explained.

"Ah, well, can't have everything," said Harry with a sigh. He looked around, and noticed that nothing had price tags on it. "I'm going to regret this, but how much is it?"

"Well, that's the hard part, Mr. Potter, It's twenty galleons, five sickles, twenty," he replied with a sigh.

"A bit more than I was expecting, but worth the price," Harry said with a nod. He had mentally priced it at fifteen, based on the random nature of a piece of fan fiction, but, after running the conversion in his head, four-hundred fifty pounds was a good price for a piece of magical luggage. "But, that's not all I'm looking for. While I do enjoy the trunk I purchased yesterday, I was shopping with Hagrid, and so, I couldn't get what I wanted, just what I needed."

The sales-wizard, surprised at how well Harry took the news of the price of the haversack, stammered a bit before getting one with the sale, "So, what sort of trunk are you really looking for?"

"Well, like you initially offered, something that's bigger on the inside would be best," Harry said, thinking out load. This had been a spur of the moment decision, getting a new trunk, since he already had a new trunk, but after lugging one through Little Whinging, the train from Greater Whinging to Waterloo, and then navigating the Underground to the Leaky Cauldron, he was looking for something a bit more convenient. "Also, I wonder if you have anything that can get smaller and lighter, for ease of travel. I know adult wizards can shrink things, but I've not even been sorted, so that sort of magic is beyond my command."

The shopkeep, presumably a Mr. Heward if the aforementioned grandfather was paternal, thought for a moment, "Well, we don't have anything exactly like that on hand… "

"Well, as you'd expect, I've got a hard deadline of the first," countered Harry.

"No, that's not a problem, shouldn't take more than a week or so. Haven't had to make a new trunk in ages, should be fun," said Heward with a smile.

Ten minutes later, and nearly thirty galleons poorer, the nearly twenty-one for the rucksack, which the geeky Harry had mentally renamed his 'Harry's Handy Haversack', and the remainder as a deposit on the custom trunk, Harry returned to the Alley. His new trunk wouldn't exactly be a copy of the one Yudkowsky had imagined, having only four trunk-sized compartment, but the larger space — Harry had claimed it was inspired by tales of magical tents, though luckily the saleswizard didn't ask how he knew about magical tents — wouldn't be limited to a small room fit only for bookshelves, and would instead be a small apartment. The whole would shrink down to the size of a deck of cards, which would be convenient, because Mr. Heward warned against the dangers of nesting extended spaces. Harry had been amazed at how much he'd be getting for the two hundred galleons of the full price of the trunk, but had agreed and had almost paid the entire cost upfront before thinking better. Heward had only asked for the nine galleon deposit, and Harry wasn't about to second-guess the older wizard.

* * *

><p>While Harry had achieved relative success at both Gringotts and Heward and Sons, his shopping experience in non-magical London left much to be desired. After stopping at the Leaky Cauldron to pay for the night's room, as well as a simple lunch of "leaky soup" and a nice roast beef on rye, Harry bid Tom a good afternoon and set off into London.<p>

As most people visiting the Leaky Cauldron know, the pub is situated between two non-magical shops, a bookstore and a record store. The bookstore was the first of many along that stretch of Charing Cross, while the record store was technically on a side street, Great Newport, great only in that it was slightly longer and slightly wider than Little Newport a bit south and on the other side of Charing Cross. After a flip of a coin, a knut that he'd received in change from Tom the "barman" (he'd taken offense when Harry had referred to him as a publican, Harry thought it was because Tom didn't know what the word meant), Harry made his first stop of the afternoon at the record store.

The experience could have gone better, in Harry's opinion, and he'd thought the only was it could've gone worse is if he'd not been able to actually buy what little he'd been able to find. At first, Harry was thinking that the clerk, a punk in his early twenties with a blue mohawk and a nose ring, was going to cooperate with him on his endeavor. Then, the clerk, he'd said his name was Sam, began obstructing Harry. First he'd asked where Harry's parents were, "Dead" was the reply. Then Sam asked who he was staying with, "My aunt and uncle," was Harry annoyed reply, to which he added, "And what does this have to do with my buying some records?" The conversation went downhill from there. Once Harry finally convinced Sam that he really did intend to buy the merchandise and not steal or destroy it, Sam had just pointed Harry to the wooden tables where the used records were offered for sale. Harry had asked what sort of organization the who used, and Sam had replied with a grunt. Eventually Harry realized it was alphabetical by genre, and he made his way to the "Rock" section, since any of the newer music he preferred was at least a decade from being produced, if ever. After an hour of looking over every single album in the "Rock" section, as well as a few in the "Folk" and "Punk" sections, Harry paid for a grand total of six records, two of which were a 2-LP set of Elvis: 40 Greatest Hits. Sam was also less than helpful when Harry had asked about where he might find a mechanical record player, Sam replying with "Why'd you want to listen to that instead of a CD anyway?" Harry had declined to answer and instead took his meager purchases and left. He surreptitiously moved all five slipcases from the plastic bag to his "haversack" as he walked past the Leaky Cauldron to the bookstore, hoping for a better experience.

Again, he was sorely disappointed. The clerk, a thirty-something matronly woman with flyaway blonde hair and thick glasses named Amelia, had been confrontational from the moment Harry entered the bookstore. She'd hounded him as he searched through the shelves, which while more organized than the haphazard arrangement he'd spotted through the door and front window of Flourish and Blotts, were not quite as extensive. After asking if Amelia had "something better to do than hound a potential customer", Harry had finally gotten some space and the ability to really examine the store's selection. Again, he'd not been able to find as much as he wanted, but even he knew that second-hand book stores had at best a hit-and-miss selection. After two hours of looking through nearly every shelf in the store (only the romance novels and children's books were ignored), Harry left with two dozen books, mostly non-fiction reference books to cover the subjects he knew that Hogwarts didn't (mainly English, Maths, and Science), though he'd found a good quality boxed set of the Lord of the Rings trilogy that he'd thought would make an excellent diversion over the subsequent month until his departure on the Express.

Harry, again slipping the purchase into his haversack after leaving, then spent the next four hours, stopping only as the stores began to close, hitting every bookstore along the non-magical perimeter of Diagon Alley. By the time he'd returned to the Leaky Cauldron he'd found another two-dozen fiction books, including the Foundation trilogy, the Chronicles of Narnia, and the Dragonriders of Pern trilogy omnibus, among other science-fiction and fantasy books. He'd read all of them, but they were good books, and would allow him to compare and contrast with his future fellow students the differences between non-magical and wizarding lore. He'd also lucked out and found a complete, if a bit worse for wear, Encylcopædia Britannica, all 30 volumes of an early 80's printing of the 15th Edition. He'd also made the decision to stick to chain bookstores, if he could find any, or college bookstores, if he could get to one, for any future book purchases. He wasn't Harry Potter-Evans-Verres, and didn't need to do a two-day raid of all the used bookstores in Greater London in a frantic effort to fill out his library.

* * *

><p>The first week of August was an adjustment period for Harry. He was adjusting, first and foremost, to being eleven years old, and all the problems that came with being half a dozen years from his majority. He'd been an adult for a decade in his old life, and was a fairly mature teenager for a few years before that, even getting a job the summer between his freshman and sophomore years of high school. So the looks he was getting around London when he was trying to get his new life together were disconcerting. The looks he was getting in the wizarding world weren't much better, and had eventually pushed him to wearing a hat, at first his pointed wizards hat, but after a couple of days, switching to the shorter and easier baseball cap he'd found in a London Tourist shop. While the wizards and witches still gawked, it was in wonder of why an eleven year old was wearing an odd rounded cap with a red 'B' on it, rather than at the Boy-Who-Lived. Add in the jeans, t-shirt, and trainers, and Harry looked severely out of place in the common room of the Leaky Cauldron.<p>

Luckily Tom the Barkeep (he'd disliked when Harry had referred to him at a publican), after enough gold and silver had greased his palms, had allowed Harry to live at the Leaky Cauldron with a bit more subtly than had initially been offered. Harry loved Hagrid, and had hoped to one day figure out a way to get him exonerated for the death of Myrtle, perhaps even get him a functional wand rather than the pieces in his umbrella. but the half-giant was completely and utterly incapable of being subtle, and had created no end of problems by introducing Harry to all those in the pub's common room upon their first entrance (not that Harry remembered the event, but he knew it happened, that was enough).

Harry was, though, in a good mood. The trial for Petigrew was slated for the tenth, just two days away, and Harry was trying to figure out how he could attend. The next week Sirius' trial was set, and Harry knew he had to attend that one. While he didn't have any connection to Sirius, the Marauder offered a preferable alternative to living with the Dursleys, and because he'd had no interaction with Harry, wouldn't be bothered by inconsistencies.

He'd pick up the trunk for Heward this afternoon, and he'd already filled his old trunk with books, music, and clothing. He'd still not found an acoustic record player, but after a return visit the previous evening to Flourish and Blotts, he'd found a couple of books on animation and enchanting. They mostly used Runes and Arithmancy, so he'd have to work hard to study, Harry thought that he'd be able to combine a couple of methods to get a turntable and speakers working, but it was a long-term project. He'd just have to rely on his memory and books for diversion for the time being.

It was just as he was finishing breakfast, and splitting his reading between the _Daily Prophet_ and the _The Times_. The former was purchased for four knuts from Tom, the later was purchased for 45p from a new agent just down Charing Cross. It was interesting comparing the two papers, though, in Harry's opinion there wasn't exactly a comparison between a paper that served a population numbering in the ten of thousands, and one serving an order or two of magnitude more. For one thing, _The Times_ had a crossword puzzle (two really).

"Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Potter," said a calm voice from over Harry's shoulder.

Harry turned his head, and frowned at his noticed the long white beard, half-moon glasses, and atrocious fashion sense, even for wizards.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This chapter **has not** been Beta-read in any way, shape, or form. It may later be replaced if and when it gets Beta-read.


	5. Chapter 4

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Author's Note:** Please, do leave a review once you're finished with this chapter.

**Chapter 4**

Harry bit his lip after spotting Dumbledore. This was a conversation that he was both looking forward to and dreading. He was looking forward to it because he would finally have the chance to discover just how manipulative Dumbledore truly was. Was he just a well meaning yet seemingly all powerful man who was slowly losing his connection to the everyday world, or was he a scheming old coot who knew that he was both smarter and more powerful that anyone else in the room, and so only his opinions mattered.

The dread was coming from the threat of Legilimency. Harry wanted to keep his cards as close to his chest as possible. Foreknowledge was useless if everything changed before he could make a difference. It was bad enough that the youngest Weasleys had captured Wormtail, not that he wasn't a mass murder and a backstabbing rat, but Harry wanted to at least have some sort of say in how the event went down. Things were happening, and Harry hated sitting on the sidelines.

"Professor Dumbledore, I presume?" asked Harry, looking not a the Headmaster's face, and risking a look into his eyes, but instead at the long beard, which Harry noted looked more like one of the members of ZZ Top than Gandalf.

"I see that my fame precedes me once again," said Dumbledore with a bit of a smile, not that Harry caught much of it at the edge of his peripheral vision.

"And what brings you to Diagin Alley today, sir? Or more specifically, what brings you to Diagon Alley, and looking for me?" asked Harry. He then gestured to one of the open seats at the table. While the table was large enough to fit at least four, if not twice that if the pub was crowded, Harry had spread his papers and breakfast wide enough that he had it to himself, "Please, do have a seat Headmaster."

"Thank you Harry," said Dumbledore, as he walked from behind Harry to sit at the seat opposite the young wizard at the round table.

As Dumbledore sat, Harry took the time to condense his papers into two relatively neat piles, and sat the smaller pile of the _Daily__Prophet_ on top of the _Times_.

"So, my questions?" asked Harry, taking a sip from his nearly room temperature tea.

"And those were?" asked Dumbledore, trying to portray himself as a kindly old man who could help Harry.

"Why are you here? Particularly, why are you here, and meeting me?" asked Harry.

"I had been hearing rumors that a young wizard had been living at the Leaky Cauldron. A young wizard who had just turned eleven not a week ago. I became concerned that perhaps he had run away and was in danger. It is a dangerous world we live in, much more so in the magical world rather than that of the muggles," replied Dumbledore in his trademark meandering way.

"I was kicked out," lied Harry. "After Hagrid 'rescued' me from that shack and left my relatives to their fates, I think they finally had enough and washed their hands of me."

Dumbledore smiled, and if Harry had been brave or stupid enough to look into his eyes, he'd see that they had a characteristic twinkle that Harry feared was the only evidence of the Headmaster's Legilimency, "Come now Harry, surely it can't be that bad."

Harry had enough. "Sir, let me ask you one more question, that the answer of which will help clarify things between us."

Dumbledore gave a gesture of acquiesce, "Go ahead Mr. Potter."

"Do you know the full address that my first Hogwarts letter was addressed to?" asked Harry.

"Excuse me?" asked Dumbledore, confused as to the relevancy of the question.

"The address, particularly, to which room of Number Four Privet Drive the letter was addressed. Where I was living at the time, and for some time before."

Dumbledore shook his head, "I'm sorry Harry, I don't know. The letters themselves are Deputy Headmistress McGonagall's purview, not my own."

"Not the answer I was looking for, but an acceptable one nonetheless," said harry flatly. "Would you like to know?"

"Yes, for I feel that you would like me to know, and I find that knowledge is power."

"The Cupboard Under the Stairs," said Harry.

"What?"

"That's the room I was living in, The Cupboard Under the Stairs. Only until after the first letter arrived, and my uncle threw it away, was I moved to an actual bedroom, The Smallest Bedroom according to the second letter."

"Ah," said Dumbledore softly.

"Exactly, combine that with my newfound liquidity, care of my late parents via my vault, and the knowledge that my Godfather would be shortly available to care for me, and I felt that, if they didn't want me, it would be best that I didn't force myself upon them."

"But you are safe at your Aunt's house," countered Dumbledore.

"Really? I can show you the scars, scars that I received from my aunt and uncle, scars that I would not have had if that house was, as you said, 'safe'," revealed Harry.

That had been one of the more interesting explorations of Harry's time after his arrival with the wand. The scars, while only physical, told a story that Rowling had only hinted at. Not a single one, save the horcrux in his forehead, was visible when wearing short and slacks, they were there nonetheless. Bite marks from what Harry could only assume was one of Marge's dogs on his legs, multiple bite marks. Scars from untreated scrapes along chest, thighs, and his back. Divots on his back from what could only be the buckle of a belt. He'd felt along what bones he could in his arms and legs, and none were as smooth as they should be.

"Let's not even mention the starvation, or the mental abuse." They needn't be mentioned because Harry planned to fix the former as soon as he could, and the mental translocation fixed the later quite completely.

"They abused you?" asked Dumbledore, surprised.

"They were afraid of me, of magic. Surely you knew my aunt was jealous of magic when you left me there; that my uncle was afraid of the abnormal? People learn to hate what they fear. So, because they were bigger, stronger, and older than I was, that fear and hate lead to abuse," explained Harry.

"Surely it can't be that bad," hoped Dumbledore. "They are you family…"

"They are my relatives," interrupted Harry. "They are not my family. Calling them family would imply that they loved me, and I them. I do not love them. Once I feared them, then, as I said, I hated them. Now, well, now I pity them, for they must live with themselves, while I no longer have to."

"But you are only elven, what do you know about love?" asked Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, would you like to know the truth?" asked Harry.

"The truth?" asked a confused Dumbledore.

"Surely you've noticed my accent, and I know that you are suspicious of the circumstances and cause of my sudden change in both accent and outlook," said Harry.

"Would you tell me the truth?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry smiled, "The Truth, Headmaster, is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution." Harry had always wanted to use that line, Dumbledore's own, from a future that would never be, since he'd first read it. He'd even goaded the Headmaster into asking for the truth because he wanted to use it so badly. Sure, it had taken him nearly the last week to remember exactly the wording, but once he did, he knew it would work perfectly, though, he had to fight really had not to start laughing like a maniac.

Dumbledore sat quietly as his words were unknowingly thrown at him by a twenty-eight year old mind in an eleven year old body.

* * *

><p>Harry stood up, grabbed his haversack from beside his chair, and began to gather the <em>Times<em> and _Prophet_ from the table.

"What are you doing Mr. Potter?" asked Dumbledore, Harry's actions knocking him from the shock the boy's words had had.

"Well, my mo… aunt always told me to clean up after myself, so yeah, I'm cleaning up. Tom's elves will take care of the dishes," explained Harry as he put first the folded _Times_ and then the _Prophet_ into his magical backpack. "Mimzy!"

POP

"You's called for Mimzy?" asked the diminutive creature with giant eyes.

"I'm done with breakfast, you can take back my dishes now," Harry said, kneeling down before the house elf to speak with her a bit more eye-to-eye.

"Mimzy be cleaning up. Is you's be needing anything else from Mimzy?"

Harry shook his head, "No, that'll be fine, though, the Headmaster and I might be needing some refreshments later."

Mimzy nodded excitedly, then grabbed the breakfast dishes and disappeared.

POP

"Very interesting creatures, house elves," said Harry, slinging his haversack over one shoulder.

"You treated Mimzy very well," Dumbledore replied.

Harry shrugged, "I prefer the carrot end of the spectrum, as opposed to the stick. I've seen what the stick can do to someone." He forced himself to shudder to sell the statement, though, it wasn't quite as forced as he would have liked to admit.

"So, you said something about possibly needing refreshments?" asked Dumbledore.

"Ah, well, the two of us are going to go up to my room, and we're going to talk about this truth, both my truth, and your truth, and we may be up there a while. Hence the refreshments," explained Harry as he stepped away from the table. "Come on, it's just up the stairs."

* * *

><p>Once the pair were inside Harry's rented room, Harry set down his haversack on his bed and turned to the Headmaster, "Before we go any further, I'm going to need…" He paused, going through his options in his head. "Three things. The first, I need you to make sure this room is private. Whatever kind of security charms and wards you recommend for private conversations regarding Tom Riddle."<p>

Dumbledore looked surprised at Harry's knowledge of the true name of the being more commonly known as Lord Voldemort, "How did you?"

"The wards, Professor," interrupted Harry. "That will keep the rest of our conversation private. Once I'm sure that we're safe from prying eyes and ears, then, and only then, will we be discussing just exactly what I know, and how exactly I came to know it."

Dumbledore nodded, and then began the process of securing the small bedroom from observation. Harry was pleased to note that the moved did, at least, get the Elder Wand right in their portrayal, for the gnarled black wand Dumbledore used was almost an exact replica of the prop used in the movies.

"There," said Dumbledore, after finishing the last of the security charms.

"Good, now number two. I'm going to need an oath. The exact wording is something I've been working on off and on for the past week," explained Harry. He reached down to his haversack, and softly spoke "oath draft" before pulling a sheet of lined notebook paper from the magical backpack. "I'd like to go over it with you, just to make sure I got the wording right."

"Come now, Mr. Potter, Harry, surely this isn't necessary," intoned Dumbledore.

"Let's just call it the _power__the__Dark__Lord__knows__not_," quipped Harry, dropping another dollop of information that it would be impossible for the original Harry Potter to know, "Shall we?"

That got Dumbledore's attention, "How did you? No… I see." He nodded to himself, "Then let us look over the wording on that oath, shall we?"

* * *

><p>"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do swear on my magic, that I will not willing reveal the information given to me, whether it be in verbal, memory, or circumstantial form, in this room, to any being, beast, or spirit without the express permission of Harry James Potter, until either the thirty-first of July in the year nineteen hundred ninety-eight, or the final and complete death and destruction of Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort, whichever comes first," said Dumbledore while clutching the Elder wand.<p>

Harry nodded, "I think that'll be good enough."

"We did work on it for half on hour, Mr. Potter," noted the Headmaster.

"Call me Harry."

"As you wish, Harry."

"Okay, well, I think I should start with the easiest bit. As of a week ago, I was celebrating my twenty-eighth birthday," said Harry, deciding that, since he had Dumbledore's promise of secrecy, he might was well tell the old man everything.

Dumbledore looked confused, "Time travel? And non-linear time travel at that." Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought.

"I also wasn't Harry Potter at the time," added Harry. "And I lived in a world where Harry Potter was a fictional character, made famous by a series of seven books and eight movies over a period of sixteen years, from ninety-four to twenty-ten."

"Wait," said Albus, trying to do the math, "Twenty-ten, but that would make you thirty, not twenty-eight."

"Actually, I was born in eighty-four, at least, in that timeline. Or, I guess it is universe. It's hard to tell sometimes what the right words are. I once read that the English language doesn't have the right words to describe time travel, though, it was referring to a time turner, and in that case, it was in relation to how convenient it was for the character involved."

"You know what a time turner is?" asked Dumbledore.

"I know what a great many things are. What a horcrux is, for instance," began Harry. He continued even as a look of horror spread across Dumbledore's face. "I also know about Flemel's Stone, and about how you plan to lure Tom into a trap. I hope it is a good one."

Dumbledore looked to question something, before shaking his head, "It it going to be difficult to remember that you have a large amount of knowledge that someone of your age, at least, Harry's age."

"I'm Harry Potter," interrupted Harry. "There's no way that I know of to go back to who and where I was, so I have to live the rest of my, hopefully long and happy, life as Harry Potter. Mind you, I'll probably have to die to fully defeat Tom, but hopefully I'll… We'll be able to arrange things so that my death, when it comes at the hands of the once and future Mr. Riddle, will be short lived, so to speak, and not nearly as permanent as it normally is."

"And how, exactly, were you planning on doing that?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, I know of a win condition, a way that, originally, Tom was defeated. It required both the Deathly Hallows, one of which you have in your hand, and another of which you have in your possession, and the third and final piece currently houses a piece of Tom's soul; as well as a blood link between Tom and Harry. I'm not sure if the second part, the blood link, is terribly important, but better safe than sorry in that regard. I know what works, so best not to mess with it."

Dumbledore shook his head slowly in amazement, "You are promising to be a much more interesting student that I had expected."

Harry smiled, remembering one of his favorite definitions of "interesting". "So, I think we need to get started on those memories. I think it would be best to first go with the movies, since they're easier to get to than the books, being much shorter, though less accurate. Everything I remembering reading had been represented, but not everything from the movies have been accurate. For instance, I don't look like a young Daniel Radcliffe. They'll be a good guide, but only just that, a guide."

Dumbledore nodded, allowing the twenty-eight year old eleven year old to guide the path of exploration.

"Now, how exactly do I extract a memory for a pensieve?"

* * *

><p>Harry looked at the eight vials of silvery liquid that he'd extracted from the side of his head with the Headmaster's help. "Okay, that was, quite possibly, the oddest experience I've ever had."<p>

"If that is so, then you have lived a very sheltered life, Harry," said Dumbledore, carefully putting the vials into one of the expanded pockets of his robe.

"Yeah, I'm with you on that one," said Harry, shaking his head absently. "It's weird. I've seen the earlier movies a couple of times, so I remember those times, and I remember remembering watching those I only watched once, but I find it very hard to actually remember what I just, well, remembered for those memories."

Dumbledore chuckled, "I believe that, once again, you've found another aspect of the magical world that the English language is ill equipped to fully describe. I fear that you will be finding quite a few such experiences in your future."

"I think that'll be the case, yes. So, now that that's out of the way, what more would you like to know?"

"Who were you, before?" asked Dumbledore.

"My name was Richard Martin, and as you can tell by my accent, or lack thereof, I was an American, though, I was also British. Dual citizenship you see. I was born here in London, spent the first year or so here, but I was raised across the pond. I didn't come back until my grandmother died, about ten years ago, and ten years from now, in two thousand two. I had an older brother, a loving mum and dad, and some crazy aunts and uncles, exactly what was denied to Harry Potter before I, well, took over, so to speak."

"I was wondering about that," asked Dumbledore. "Why aren't you at the Dursleys, really?"

"Well, they're abusive, manipulative, unloving, and quite frankly, not what I need for the next seven years. Yeah, I'm aware of the protections that you tied between Petunia and the young Harry when you literally left him on the doorstep."

"Not my finest moment, I'll admit," said Dumbledore softly.

"No, but I can't say it hurt me any, personally. I'm not that Harry Potter, I'm a… a gestalt, so to speak; the mind of Richard, but the body, and most importantly the magic, of Harry. Not to mention the world and destiny of Harry. There are six, possibly seven if you count Quirrel, of Tom's should shards floating about. Myself," Harry said, tapping the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, "the locket, which is hiding at the Black family residence here in London; the ring, which is at the Gaunt shack, and I would heartily recommend you bring in some curse breakers for that one, perhaps once I get some magic under my belt, my ability to speak to snakes might not go awry; the diary, which is currently with Lucius Malfoy, and it might be best to leave it be, since it is much easier to destroy the damned things with basilisk venom than anything else; the cup, which is in the Lestrange vault and will be probably the most difficult to get at; and the sixth, the diadem, which is hiding in the Room of Requirement, the Come and Go Room, the Room of Lost Things, or as you probably know it, the Room of the Chamberpots."

"Ah, I was wondering about that room," said Dumbledore idly. "Never have been able to find it again."

"Seventh floor corridor, in front of the tapestry of the wizard teaching the trolls to dance. Walk three times before it thinking of what you want to room to be, hence the Room of Requirement moniker, and then, the room comes, hence it's other moniker, the Come and Go room. I'm not sure if it'll be easy or hard to get it to show you the diadem, either you can just ask for the diadem right out, or you'll have to go searching through the Room of Lost Things for where Tom hid it."

"I noticed that you prefer using his given name, why is that?" asked Dumbledore, changing the subject.

Harry shrugged, "It might be Taboo, I'm not sure, to speak the name of Voldemort, but really, it's because I'm not afraid of him. Right now, he's a specter, a spirit without a body, not quite a ghost, but, more than a memory. Eventually, he might regain some corporeal form, and in that case, he'll be an abomination of magic. He's also a terrorist, and after 9/11, I don't care much for terrorists. They win, they gain power, but fear and terror, hence the name. We win, and they lose, but taking away that fear, by denying them the ability to create terror. He's just a man, not even that right now, and while he is powerful, he's afraid of death. I've never been afraid of death. The pain of dying, sure, but who can rightly say they enjoy pain, but I'm not afraid of death. Plus, it's a made up name created as an anagram of all things."

"Anagram?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle can be rearranged into the phrase, I am Lord Voldemort. It was a name created by a sick and twisted sixteen year old boy who wanted to take over the world because he didn't get enough love as a child. That, as it was a name created by a hack of an author who took french in secondary school and wanted to come up with a scary name for her children's book, though, that's only in my world, not this one. She was at least internally consistent, at least, with Tom's names."

"So, are you treating this world, our world, my world, as fantasy, or reality?"

"It's real. I don't know how I got here, but I'm here now, and it's real to me now, so it's reality. I'll laugh at some of the oddities, like spell names, but even the rest of the world not written about in the books has oddities like that. Who's to say that my home was any more or less real than where I am now?"

Dumbledore nodded, "Good, it's always best to not treat reality like a fantasy. Makes things less difficult to believe."

"That is does."

"You mentioned nine eleven, what does that mean to you?"

Harry chuckled, "September Eleventh, Two Thousand One. A group of terrorists, hence my distain of terrorists in general, flew airliners into buildings, killing thousands. It was a pivotal point in my old history, a day where people remembered exactly where they were. Actually, if you'll conjure up another vial, I'll give you a bit of a highlight reel, so to speak, of the events, It'll be the replays, and the retellings, since I don't want to give up the original events, but it'll be enough to tell you what happened."

* * *

><p>"One last thing," said Harry, crossing the second to last item off of his mental list.<p>

"And that would be?"

"My cover," said Harry. "Obviously I'm not going to be able to use the one I've been using since I, arrived, here last week."

"Why not? It has seemed to have worked so far."

"Headmaster, before this last week, I hadn't lived in nineteen ninety-one in twenty years, and the last time I was now was when I was seven, and a quarter of the way around the world. I can't fake having been raised in Surrey, particularly amongst the muggle-born and raised. I still want to call it soccer, for god's sake, and my mum would kill me for that."

"You original mother was the British one, right?" asked Albus.

"Yes, though she, like me, or at least, I used to, had dual citizenship. But, yeah, she raised me to call it footy and all that jazz, but after high school, and the jocks on the football team wearing pads and the jocks on the soccer team kicking the ball, the vocabulary kind of stuck. So, I was thinking of using the cover I've been using in the muggle world, that of an originally British pre-teen who was raised in America after his parents died, and has returned to go to the same boarding school they did. Just need a bit of help with Hagrid and some of the lot that were here in the Alley on the thirty-first, though even then, we can just pawn it off on Hagrid doing a little bit of magic with that umbrella of his and making it so that I had a proper accent. When I grasped the wand, the power of the brother wand to Tom's broke the weak magic from Hagrid's broken one, and returned me to the American accent I'd had before. Just say that I was born here in England, but raised in America, and brought here on my birthday to come to Hogwarts. It's even true, from a certain point of view."

"A certain point of view?" asked Dumbledore. "I think you might be a bit more dangerous that I had feared, Harry."

"Headmaster, I'm probably a lot more dangerous than you'd feared, but not to you, or to your Greater Good. I still plan on defeating Tom, even if I have to die to do so. I was resigned to that on day one. I want to live in a world ruled by that psychopathic sociopath of a half-blood as much as you do, perhaps even less. I just want to learn as much as I can so that I have a better chance at surviving, and a better chance of keeping others from suffering a terrible fate," explained Harry.

"So, are we agreed, at least on the cover as it stands?" asked Harry. "We can even explain my response to both my names, Harry and Richard, as having lived under an assumed name with my 'foster' parents over in America."

Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, I think that'll work."

"Oh, yeah, you have my permission to share my cover identity. We should probably keep names out of it until we can get back together and keep our stories straight," said Harry, remembering the oath he'd wrangled out of the Headmaster.

Albus smiled, a twinkle in his eye, "Thank you Harry."

Harry stood, and Albus followed the motion, "Well, I think we're done here. And no, I don't plan on going back to the Dursleys. The protection will keep until at least next summer, and hopefully we'll have figured something out before then, possibly staying with Sirius Black once he's been exonerated under the Fidelous, or possibly something else. No need to worry about that now. We've got months more to plan, as well as a couple of trials to finish, Chief Warlock."

"Until the first?" asked Harry, extending his hand to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore reluctantly took it and shook, "Until the first, unless something else comes up."

"I'll see you at Hogwarts, Headmaster," said Harry, before showing the Headmaster to the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Secondary Note:<strong> Please, do leave a review, and check out either of my other two stories. Also, this chapter's recommendation is _A Different Halloween_ by **robst **(found at story id 6439871 here on FF(dot)net).


	6. Chapter 5

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Author's****Note:** Okay, so, this one wasn't three weeks. Some reviewers wanted it sooner, so here it is.

**Chapter 5**

The ringing bells of the alarm clock woke Harry from his slumber, and with a half-awake swat, was quickly silenced. Harry blinked, yawned, and then threw the blanket off of his as rolled out of the queen-sized bed. He groggily stepped around the bed, past his discarded clothes from the night before, and out of his bedroom. Down a short hall, Harry walked in the dim twilight to his bathroom, where he touched an engraved rune on the wall, and magical light filled the room, causing Harry to flinch slightly.

"Hello handsome," he said, gazing at his blurry reflection. He chuckled to himself, then set himself to work. The water for the shower was quickly adjusted to the perfect temperature, and then he let it run and steam up the bathroom as he slipped out of his nightclothes, a t-shirt and underwear, and then slipped into the warm embrace of the shower itself. Five minutes later he was awake enough to start cleaning, and ten minutes later he was finished with his shower.

After toweling off, he carefully stepped out of the tub and onto the plush bath mat, before tying the towel around his waist and stepping back to the sink and mirror. He brushed his hand through his damp hair, now an inch or so longer than when he'd first arrived at Ollivanders, not quite long enough to tie back, but long enough to at least stay down after a liberal application of hair gel, which was liberally applied. After washing his hands of the gel, he then carefully transferred his contacts from their plastic home to his eyes, and for the first time since removing them the night before, could see himself clearly in the mirror.

"I barely look like Harry," he said with a smile. Gone was the unruly hair, and the tinted contacts hid the emerald green eyes behind baby blue. The only thing that was truly recognizable was his defining feature, the lightning bolt scar above his right eye, Tom's sixth horcrux. "Well, barely with a hat on," he corrected himself as he felt the scar with his fingers.

After dallying enough in the bathroom, Harry unwrapped the towel and left it to dry in the bathroom, picked up his nightclothes, and trekked back down the hall, letting the light from the bathroom illuminate his path. Once in his bedroom another rune brought light, and he began to clean up his clothes from the night before, before selecting another t-shirt and jeans combo for the day ahead.

Leaving his bedroom in stocking feet, and turning off the lights in both bedroom and bathroom, Harry made his way to the kitchen. Another rune tapped, and Harry began making breakfast, "So, what do I want today? Pancakes? No, had those yesterday. How about a full breakfast? Nah, can't do better than the Cauldron." He tapped his chin while looking into the magical refrigerator, shrugging, and then grabbing the box of milk. A bowl and a box of cereal later, and then putting the milk and cereal away, Harry stepped out of his kitchen with a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Another rune tapped, and the lamp above his small dining table brightened the combination dining and living room.

Ten minutes later, after rinsing bowl and spoon and setting them in the sink for washing later, Harry decided it was finally time to leave. Tapping the runes in the kitchen and dining room, and then the one at the bottom of the stairs, left him with only one illuminated room. He slipped into his trainers, and then grabbed his haversack, before tapping the light rune again and walking up the stairs.

Harry stepped out of his trunk into his room at the Leaky Cauldron. The trunk was at the foot of the bed he'd not slept in since picking up his trunk, and buying furniture for the apartment, three days before. He closed the trunk, and after sliding his fingers across a series of runes carved into the lid, picked up and slid the shrunken trunk into his haversack. A quick "robes" and "baseball cap" later, and Harry left his rented room looking rather anachronistic. A Red Sox cap hid his scar, while his black robes, a new set he'd picked up the day before that didn't have the Hogwarts crest, hid his t-shirt and jeans, with only his Chuck Taylors visible beneath the hem, and his haversack hanging from his right shoulder.

"Hey Tom," said Harry as he got to the bottom of the stairs and into the common room of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Mornin' Harry," said the barkeep. "Breakfast?"

Harry shook his head, "Nah, decided to have some cereal, though I'll probably stop by for lunch or dinner later, depending on how long the sentencing goes."

"So you're headed down to the Ministry today?" asked Tom.

Harry nodded, "Yep. He betrayed my birth parents, so I thought it'd be right to be there for the end."

"Well, have a good day then," said Tom as Harry made his way to the hearth.

Harry stopped, and turned, "You got a _Prophet_ I can buy off of you? Thought I'd get some news in while I wait."

Tom smiled at his newest favorite customer, grabbed a fresh _Daily__Prophet_ off of the stack that'd been delivered a few hours before, and handed it to Harry. When the surprisingly mature eleven year old tried to pay for it, Tom waved his hand and shook his head, "No need, Harry, since you didn't have breakfast, we'll just call it even."

Harry chuckled as he carefully slipped the folded newspaper into his haversack, secured both straps over his shoulders, dropped some coins in the dish, grabbed some floo powder, and with a shout was on his way to the "Ministry of Magic."

* * *

><p>"Now, I want to make sure you two behave today," said Molly Weasley to her two youngest children.<p>

Ron rolled his eyes, "Yes Molly, I'll behave."

"Out there, it's Mum, not Molly," chided the matron.

"Yeah, ickle Ronnikins," joked the now ten year old Ginny.

"Don't make fun of your brother," said Arthur Weasley, as he settled his robe on his shoulder. "And yes, remember, out there, he's your brother. I don't care who you used to be, but you two are Ronald and Ginerva Weasley now, and that's what the world has to see."

Ron slouched as Molly adjusted the collar of his dress shirt under his robes, "I know, it's just, well, it's been ten days now, and we still haven't' received any response from Harry."

"I'm not sure it's such a good idea to tell him about you two," said Molly.

"Mum," said Ginny, before sticking out her tongue at Ron, "I think it's really important that he knows what he's going to face."

"I'm not sure if messing with the course of events is such a good idea," said Arthur. "I had a talk with some of the Unspeakables down in the Department of Mysteries last week, and they said that messing with time is dangerous."

"First off, we've already made a bollocks of things with the rat," said Ron.

"Ronald, language! I know you used to be twenty-eight, but you're eleven now, and I won't have my son using language like that," said Molly, pinching Ron's ear.

"Ow, okay, no language, gotcha," said Ron, rubbing his ear. "But the point stands. This, what we're doing today, the trial, it didn't happen. I've read the books dozens of times with my students, at least, I used to, and there was never any trial of Pettigrew before we got to Hogwarts."

"So, you're saying it's no use to try to salvage things?" asked Ginny, a bit of her old Anglesey accent slipping through her recently acquired West Country one.

"Remember your accent love," chided Molly. "And no, I don't think so. You'll have the twins and Percy to help you once you get to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, next year," said Ginny with a sigh. "It's bad enough I'm stuck in a ten year old's body, but to be stuck here in bloody Devon!"

"Language!" chided Molly, as behind the matron, Ron smirked at Ginny's misfortune.

"Sorry Mum," said Ginny with a sigh.

"Well, Xeno's daughter is your age," offered Arthur.

"Xeno?" asked Ron.

"Lovegood," added Molly. "Xeno Lovegood, he lives on the other side of the village."

"Luna?" asked Ginny. She bit her lower lip in thought, "Well, that's an idea. You're sure she didn't know Ginny, me, before?"

Arthur shook his head, "No, pretty sure, unless she snuck out. After her mum died last year…"

"I think that'd work. I'd still rather go to Hogwarts, but I think having a friend would be fun, a friend I can call my own, not one I inherited, so to speak, for my former self."

"So, are we ready?" asked Molly, after brushing a bit of dust off of her daughter's shoulder.

"I think so," said Arthur, "Kids?"

Ginn and Ron nodded.

"Well, just do it like we practiced. Enunciate properly, and you'll get there fine," said Arthur as he lead his youngest children and wife to the hearth. He grabbed a handful of floo powder from the flowerpot Molly kept it in on the mantle, threw it into the fire, and stepped into the green flames, declaring, "Ministry of Magic."

* * *

><p>Harry, having asked Tom on a previous occasion how to both properly enter, and exit, the floo, landed in the Ministry lobby with much more grace than the original occupant of his body would eventually have. The trick, he'd learned, was not just to keep his elbows in, which was more of a transit tip, but to "step out" of the floo, since it imparted some momentum on the traveller, and by taking a step just upon exiting the network, the momentum was translated into purposefully foreword movement.<p>

Once in the lobby Harry did the requisite sightseeing, seeing the fountain of magical brethren at one end, and the entrance to the rest of the Ministry on the other. The Ministry entrance was, as expected, crowded, since it was both the beginning of the workday, and the let day of a rather famous trial. Although he'd been raised in America, Harry's mother had imparted upon him the infamous British ability to queue. Unfortunately, since he was currently in Britain, everyone else also knew how to queue, and so, in the end, he'd spent fifteen minutes waiting patiently to get to the front of said queue.

"Wand?" asked the bored looking man behind the security desk in front of the golden gates that allowed access to the rest of the Ministry.

Harry slipped his holly and phoenix feather wand from the holster on his left arm, spun it around in the palm of his right hand, and then handed it, handle-end first, to the man behind the desk.

The man too it, and placed it on the ornate magical scale that was one of the few items on the desk. Joining it were a copy of this morning's _Daily__Prophet_, as well as a half-empty cup of tea. A few seconds later a slip of parchment was fed out of the scale, and after the man returned Harry's wand, he read it, "eleven inches, phoenix feather core, in use for… fourteen days?" The man looked up and for the first time actually looked at Harry. "You're what, eleven?"

"And fourteen days, yes," replied Harry, slipping his wand back into its holster, tip first. "There a problem?"

"What are you doing here?" asked the man behind the security desk.

"I was wondering when you were going to ask that, and I'm here to witness the end of Pettigrew's trial," replied Harry.

"The trial," said the man with a sigh, "been right busy that one has, and next week it Black's trial. A madhouse that one will be. Do you think they'll be able to find Harry Potter to act as witness?"

Harry shrugged, "Not sure I'll be able to act as one. Don't' actually remember ever meeting him, though I plan on it after he's exonerated."

The security man looked oddly at Harry, "What? Who are you?"

"And the third and final question finally arrives, and I finally get to actually enter the Ministry, after holding up the line. Thank you, and the name's Harry Potter."

"What?" asked the security man, surprised.

Harry lifted the brim of his Red Sox cap, revealing the scar on his forehead, "Like I said, Harry Potter, here to witness Pettigrew's trial."

As he said that, the magical device that did so, spit out a pin with the words "Harry Potter | Trial Witness" on it, which the security man, in a bit of a daze, gave to Harry.

"Thank you," said Harry with a smile. He pinned it to his robes and made his way through the golden gate. As he stepped through, he missed a quartet of gingers adding themselves to the back of the queue at the security desk, as well as a murmur of "Harry Potter?" floating down the same queue.

* * *

><p>"Wait, Harry's here?" asked Ron as he heard the murmur filtering through the crowd.<p>

"Why would he be here?" asked Arthur.

"Why wouldn't he be here is a better question," countered Ginny. "I mean, we haven't been able to get ahold of him, which means he's either not at Privet Drive anymore, which I can only hope is the case, or someone's blocking his mail, which could also be the case."

"So he's here?" asked Ron.

"That's what it sounds like," said Molly. "I hope we can find him. If he's here, it's most likely because of the trial, and if that's the case, we'll get the chance to find him either in the courtroom or afterwards. It's a good thing you two aren't needed anymore, since it's just the verdict and sentencing today, you'll be able to keep any eye out for him."

"It's not like we even know what he looks like," said Ron. "Sure, we know he's an eleven year old with messy black hair, green eyes, and glasses, but you both know that by now, so we're just another set of eyes."

"You can go back to the Burrow if you want," said Molly. "I'm sure your older brothers wouldn't mind some help with the gnomes."

Ron quickly backpedaled, "No, no, I'm fine. I'll be a fourth pair of eyes, no problem. Please, anything but those bloody gnomes."

"Language!" quipped Molly as the queue moved forward, though she had a smile on her face, and she shared a quick glance with her husband at the growing familiarity of their temporally displaced children.

After weighing wands, and explaining to the security guard that Ron's wand had been given to him by his older brother, and that no, an eleven year old hadn't had a wand for that long, they too passed through the golden gates to the lifts.

* * *

><p>The end of Pettigrew's trial was, for Harry at least, not that eventful. It was mainly political theatre, with the Chief Warlock calling the room, Wizengamot and audience alike, to order, before asking the defense and Crown Prosecutor alike if they had any more statements to add. Neither did, and so Dumbledore called for the verdict. It was unanimous, and Peter Pettigrew was sentenced to life imprisonment at Azkaban for his betrayal of the Potters, his murder of twelve muggles, his unregistered Animagus status, as well as various counts of trespassing for his time spent under the guise of Scabbers at the Burrow. There were some calls from the audience for either the Kiss or the Veil, but Dumbledore stressed that forgiveness was paramount, and that Pettigrew should be made to understand the severity of his crimes.<p>

After the sentencing the trial was over, and Pettigrew was pulled from the courtroom. Harry was about to leave when he heard Wormtail plead.

"Have mercy," he plead to someone at the front of the courtroom. "I was a good rat, a nice rat, a loyal rat." At that, Harry looked closer, and saw, to a mixture of surprise and resignation, the four redheads in the front row, two children flanked by adults.

"The Weasleys," he said to himself as Pettigrew was finally pulled from the courtroom. "Perhaps? Well, I have been meaning to write them a letter. Perhaps talking to them would be better. Yes, but I need to do it quietly."

He then slowly made his way down the steps of the audience to the front row, where the Weasleys were still sitting, the adults talking with a silver-haired woman with a monocle. It took Harry a minute, and he'd nearly made it to the Weasleys, before he realized who they were talking to. "Madam Bones," he said softly to himself, "Head of the DMLE".

He stopped at the row behind the Weasleys, and then slowly walked across to stand behind them, fighting with himself on whether he should eavesdrop or not. The questions was answered to him, as when he got close enough to understand what was being softly said between the three adults, he was spotted.

* * *

><p>Ron, not really interested in the conversation between Arthur and Madam Bones, was instead looking around the courtroom. It was much different from what he'd expected, either from his former experience in his old life, or his watching of the various movies. It wasn't quite as dark as he'd expected, and was much closer in appearance to a muggle-style courtroom than the near theatre-in-the-round he'd remembered from the movies. As the conversation between the elder Weasleys and Madam Bones was winding down, he noticed someone odd.<p>

At first, it was just because they were walking towards Ron, and the front of the audience area of the courtroom rather than the exits like the rest of the audience. Then, he noticed that it was a young boy, about the age of his former students, whom he'd worried about in the weeks since arriving at the Burrow. Then, he noticed that the boy was wearing a baseball cap, something that, while wasn't entirely uncommon in the muggle world twenty years in the future, was decidedly uncommon in the Wizarding World of the early nineties. He wasn't familiar with the team represented by the red B, but as he looked, he took in the features of the wearer. Black hair slicked back and mostly hidden by the cap, blue eyes, a fairly new robe, especially compared to the hand-me-down robes that Ron had to his name, and was looked like a leather strap over one shoulder, which Ron thought was more likely to be from a backpack rather than a purse or satchel. He also noticed that the boy was focused on his new family.

"Hello," greeted Ron. That caught the attention of the adults, as well as Ginny, and made the boy realize he wasn't quite as stealthy as he would have liked.

"Uh, hi," the boy replied. He looked at Ron, swallowed, and nervously said, "Thank you for not listening to him."

"Who?" asked Ron, noticing that the boy had an American accent.

"Wor… uh, Pettigrew," said the boy, changing his answer from Wormtail to Pettigrew after realizing that the recently convicted felon hadn't shared his nickname.

Ron looked intrigued by the slip-up, and offered his hand to the young wizard, "Ronald Weasley."

The boy took it and mumbled something.

"What?" asked Ron. He noticed that the four others, his new parents, new sister, and Madam Bones, hadn't spoken since he'd greeted the boy.

The boy swallowed hard, and looked around. Seeing that nobody was close-by except the Weasleys and Bones, he took a deep breath, and then looked Ron in the eyes, "Harry Potter. Thanks for catching the rat. I think we have a bit to talk about."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's<strong>**Note:** Okay, so I'm a day late with this chapter, or two weeks early depending on how you measure things. I've had a tough week, and I've been caught in a good story, which is, coincidentally, this week's recommendation, _Effects __and __Side __Effects_, by **Pheonix ****Dawn** (story ID 4606270 here on FF(dot)net).


	7. Chapter 6

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Chapter 6**

_The boy swallowed hard, and looked around. Seeing that nobody was close-by except the Weasleys and Madam Bones, he took a deep breath and then looked Ron in the eyes, "Harry Potter. Thanks for catching the rat. I think we have a bit to talk about."_

Ron sat slack jawed looking at Harry Potter. He knew the boy wouldn't look exactly like the actor, nor like the illustrations on the covers of the books, but he was even farther from what he expected than he'd, well, expected. Where were the famous emerald green eyes that made everyone who knew her, and some that didn't, remind them of his mother? Where were the infamous glasses? Where was the messy hair? For God's sake, where was his accent? He sounded like a bloody Yank.

"What?" asked Ginny. "How can you be Harry Potter?"

Harry lifted the brim of his baseball cap just enough to show the iconic scan above his right eye, "That good enough for you?"

"What about your glasses, and your eyes?" continued to ask Ginny. "I thought you had your mother's eyes."

Harry chuckled, "I do, they're just under the tinted contacts. Between them, the hat, and a liberal amount of gel, I'm able to get around Diagon Alley quite anonymously."

"What about the Dursleys?" asked Ron.

Harry nodded, "Look, good question, and I'm sure you've got lots of them, as do I, but this is not the place to talk of such things. This is a very, public, forum, and I'd rather talk to all of you, including you," and his gestured at the silver-haired woman, "Madam Bones, in a private forum."

"Thank you for your invitation, Mister Potter, but I'm not sure exactly what we need to talk about," the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement commented.

"Well, there's the future, the past, the nature of reality, the differences between fact and fiction, and oh, the permanent downfall of one Tom Marvolo Riddle," replied Harry.

"Who?" asked Molly Weasley.

"I believe you know him by his _nom__de__guerre_ of Lord Volde…"

"Don't say that name," hissed Molly.

"I couldn't care any less about the fear of the name, but I know how much it frightens the public, so, I'll refer to him as Tom, or Riddle, or even the Dark Lord, but none of that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bullshit."

"Language!" admonished Molly.

"Mrs. Weasley, I'll curse if I want to. I've been doing it for longer than I've been alive, and that's saying something."

"What?" asked Madam Bones. "How can you have been cursing longer than you've been alive?"

"Another question for which the answer requires privacy, Madam Bones. If you like, I've brought my trunk with me, we can talk in there, or we can go to your office, or Mr. Weasley's, though I believe his is about the size of a cupboard under the stairs, so to speak, so perhaps not. Another option is to head to the Burrow and talk there."

"How can you know all this?" asked Madam Bones. "You've been away from the Wizarding World since your parent's death. How can you know the size of Arthur's office? And what did you mean about talking in your trunk?"

"It's like a tent, only it looks like a trunk. I've been calling it my TARDIS."

"Tardis?" asked Ginny with a smile and a chuckle. "It's not a blue Police Box is it?"

Harry chuckled as well. "No, it's a Trunk Apartment, Rather Desirable In Size," he explained. "I've been staying there for the last few days, well, also in my room of the Leaky Cauldron, but I've been trying to get used to the trunk. Heward says it's clean of any bugs for now, but I'd still like to sweep for them before we talk."

"Bugs?" asked Madam Bones.

"Well, aside from listening devices, I'm also talking about a certain unregistered animagus reporter," said Harry, looking around the nearly empty courtroom, and seeing nobody aside from the five before him and an auror at the door. Not that he'd be able to spot a shiny blue beetle anyway, but it was the thought that counted; 'Constant Vigilance' and all that.

"Yes, perhaps it would be best to return to the Burrow," said Arthur, looking around for iridescent insects himself. "If you want, Amelia, you can come over for supper."

"That seems prudent Arthur," replied Madam Bones. "I hope that your revelations are suitably revelatory Mister Potter."

"They should be, and I'm not sure if I'm overstepping things, but perhaps you could also invite your niece?" asked Harry.

"What about Susan?" asked Madam Bones, concerned.

"Well, aside from the fact that I'd like to meet at least some of my classmates before I reach Hogwarts, some of what I have to reveal would apply to her, if only because she'll be at Hogwarts during my time there," explained Harry. "I realize I'm being cryptic, and it's not my ultimate intention, but without secrecy, I'd rather not talk about any specifics." He then paused for a moment, "Actually, if you have access to a pensieve, that would make things easier."

Madam Bones thought for a moment, then nodded, "I'm sure I'll also learn just how you knew what a pensieve is, but yes, I believe that I can bring a small evidence pensieve with me."

"Good, good," said Harry nodding. "Anything else?"

"What about your accent?" asked Ron, finally broaching his final concern into the conversation.

Harry chuckled, "Ron, I thought we were past such questions, but… let us just say that I've been raised in America by a loving family and only just arrived here in jolly old England on my birthday. I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron because I don't have any acceptable place to stay in England before heading up to Hogwarts."

Ron thought for a moment, extracting the truth from the obfuscation. "Ah, gotcha. Well, I'm sure that's quite the life story."

"Quite," agreed Harry.

"So…" offered Ginny hesitantly. "Are we talking at the Burrow, at Da's office, or where?"

"At the Burrow, dear. Madam Bones, and possibly her naive Susan, are coming over and we'll talk then. Harry here is invited over for lunch, if he wishes, and for some light conversation before the Boneses come over," explained Arthur to his not exactly ten-year old daughter

"Ah," replied Ginny. "I understand."

"If that's the case, I should floo Tom to tell him that I'll not be in for supper," said Harry.

"We can do that from the Atrium, or from the Burrow, as you prefer," offered Arthur. "I'd suggest the Burrow, if only because I'd rather not make a scene in the Atrium. It'll be bad enough trying to get you through without a mob."

Harry looked concerned, "Really. I seemed to be fine so far. Before I revealed myself, you didn't know who I was, did you? And the security guard upstairs didn't believe me until I showed the scar either. That's why I wear my hat, and the contacts. I don't want to be swarmed with well-wishers like at the Leaky Cauldron."

"That should work," said Arthur.

"You'll stay until the Express, right?" offered Molly.

"I'll decide after our conversations," said Harry. "I don't want to be a burden, and don't look at me like that. You've seven kids, even if some have moved out, and I'd rather not force an extra mouth upon you for the rest of the month. If I do take your offer, you'll also have to take some money to soften the financial blow. And don't look at me like that either, I've quite a large vault, and what's the point of money if you can't use it to make your life livable?"

* * *

><p>"Thanks for lunch Mrs. Weasley," said Harry as he leaned back from the table, his plate only half empty. "It was more than I'm used to, I hope you don't mind that I didn't finish it."<p>

Molly Weasley laughed, "I guess I'm so used to my Ron, my old Ron, eating everything, that I'm still adjusting to the reduced need."

Harry looked to Ron, whom, while he had finished the contents of his plate, had not gone for more, nor had he assaulted the plate like the proverbial cookie monster attacked a biscuit, "Now I know you're not Ron." He chuckled, and the rest of the Weasleys; the patriarch Arthur, the third eldest, and rising fifth year Percy, the Twins, Fred and George (or as Harry was calling them in his mind, Gred and Forge), Ron and Ginny, the youngest, and fellow travelers, and the matriarch, Molly, all joined him in his mirth.

"So, how did you react? I had to improvise quite quickly, blaming the sudden accent change on my newly fitted wand. Which reminds me, we need to get Ron a new wand, and any of the rest of you using second-hand or inherited wand," Harry asked explained, and stated. "And don't go on about expense. you've seven children, I'm a rich orphan helping his friends, and like I said back in Courtroom Ten, what the point of having money if you can't use it?"

Arthur nodded, and his gaze at his wife cut off all thoughts of rejecting the offer, "Thank you Harry, but, if you'll be buying my children wands, then I'll have to insist that you spend the rest of the month here, as our guest."

Harry smiled, knowing that Arthur would had offered such anyway, "Thank you Mr. Weasley."

"So…" said Ginny hesitantly. "Well, you asked, about what happened when we, arrived?"

Harry nodded.

"I was lucky, Ginny had been helping Mum in the kitchen, so I didn't get hurt," the ten year old with the mind of a twenty-seven year old explained. At Harry's inquisitive look, she gestured to her youngest brother, and fellow traveler, "Ron here was out on the pitch with Perce and the Twins. Fell right off his broom, thirty feet up. Thankfully, we bounce, or at least, we don't hit as hard as normal people do. Broke his arm right badly, but Mum's got plenty of potions on hand, what with six boys and all, and he was right as rain, physically at least, in short order."

"Yeah, physically; freaked out would be a good descriptor of my mental state though," explained Ron. "I'd been in the middle of grading papers when I found myself ten meters up and suddenly falling. Oh, and I was a young ginger to boot. Took my thirty minutes to realize where, when, and importantly, who I was. Luckily my class had been reading Philospher's Stone last term, so I was familiar enough with the times that I wasn't out of my depths, unlike my dear sister."

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Look, it's not my fault my old mum and da were a bit religious. I saw the movies at least, kind of had to, what with my second cousin in them."

"Wait, second cousin?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, seems that in her former life, ickle-Gin-Gin's cousin was an actress," said one of the Twins, whom once they'd sat down, Harry had decided to refer to him as Forge.

"Bonny's a second cousin, well, was a second cousin," explained Ginny. At the look of confusion on Harry's face, she continued her explanation, "She played the role I'm now ideally suited for?"

"Wait," began Harry, realization dawning, "Your second cousin played Ginny in the movies?"

Ginny nodded, and Harry chuckled, "Okay, so, that's interesting. Wonder if that's your connection."

"Connection?" asked Ron.

"Why she was brought back in time rather than one of the roughly seven billion other people on the planet, let alone how many countless other sapient species are in the universe. What are the chances the mind pulled crossways through time and universes would be so closely related to whom she would become?"

Ron shugged, "Well, that's better than my connection. I've read all the books, saw all the movies, and I'm a teacher, so I've read and seen them dozens of times over the years, the older ones obviously more than the latter."

"What's yours?" asked Ginny.

"The wand," said Harry, using his right hand to pull the eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather from the holster on his left wrist. He held it loosely in his palm, "It was my birthday, still is I guess."

"Wait, you were born on the Thirteenth of February?" asked Ginny, interrupting Harry's tale.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, what of it?"

"I was the Twenty-Third myself, which matched up with the Eleventh on this end," explained Ginny.

Ron nodded and added, "My birthday matches up too. Used to be the Fourteenth of Septmeber, now it's the First of March. Exact same days between."

"Weird," said Harry softly. "Okay, so, I got the wand on my birthday, present from my mum, she knew I loved the books, bought me a pretty nice prop wand for my Twenty-Eighth birthday. As soon as I grasped it I was standing in Ollivander's and it's shooting sparks from the end, I'm over a foot shorter, and lost sixteen years in age. But, in retrospect, beats falling from a broom any day of the week."

Ron nods, "Yeah, but, you've got to admit, magic's way better when it comes to healing. Quicker than the hospital to boot."

"So, where are, were, you from?" asked Ginny. "I know you told Madam Bones that you were raised in America."

"Well, believe it or not, but I actually, or used to at least, had dual citizenship. Dad's American, Mum too, but she's naturalized. She, well, me too, was born here in Jolly Old England."

"Wait," asked Ginny, "You're British? Where were you born?"

Harry looked confused, "Um, England."

"No, where in England, mate. What hospital?" asked Ron belligerently.

"What's it matter?" asked Harry, confused.

"Bet 'cha a galleon it was Saint Cantigernus Gred," said the Twin Harry had initially called Gred in his mind, but quickly switched to Forge.

"No deal, brother of mine, sucker's bet that is," said Gred, who used to be Forge, and had previously made fun of Ginny's former relations.

Harry now looked scared, "Okay, how'd you guys know? Saint Cantigernus isn't even around, even now. Burned down about two years ago, at least, it would have, had it been the same '91 we'd left."

"You're looking at two other births of Saint Cantigernus'," said Ginny, gesturing to herself and Ron next to her.

"Or, as they call him in the North," began Ron, a mischievous smile on his face, "Saint Mungo."

Harry was dumbfounded, speechless, and slackjawed.

Ginny nodded, "Yep, I think we've found the final element of our connections. Between our relative ages staying constant, my old self's connection with my new, and your receiving the wand, that's three disparate elements that, when added to out having been born, like our new selves, at Saint Mungo's Hospital, nicely explains our current predicament."

"Shit," said Harry softly.

"Language," admonished Molly.

"Sorry Mrs. Weasley," Harry apologized. "But you did have to admit, it's quite the weighty revelation."

"I just want to know how it happened, and if it can be reversed," said Ron with a sigh.

"Reversed?" asked Ginny, turning in her seat to look agape at her brother, "Why'd you want to go back? We're young again, and we have the chance to save the world from a great evil. We're going to be heroes, and I for one, plan on doing whatever possible to do what needs to be done."

"I… well…" began Ron.

"Girlfriend or wife?" asked Harry.

"Wife," said Ron.

"Kids?"

Ron shook his head, "Well, not yet. Mel and I, we were trying, but, well, the fun is less in the having of the baby then the process of creation, so to speak." The pale skin of the redhead blushed nearly red enough to match his hair.

"Well, you have two choices Ron," said Harry. "You can mope and lead your life thinking of what you've lost."

"Or?" asked Ron expectantly.

"Or, you can build and fraking bridge and get over it," said Harry. "You've lost her, and I don't know of any way of getting her back. Sure, time travel is possible, we're all evidence to that fact, but it requires magic, and I believe the wand," and he paused to display his wand, "is the key."

"What?" asked Molly.

"The wand was the catalyst," stated Harry. "Of that, at least, I'm sure. The coincidences are too great, that I'd cross-time travel as soon as I got a replica of this self-same wand to the exact moment that it chose Harry in no coincidence. The mechanism I'm unsure of, and I'm not sure I even want to know, but it does involve the wand in some way, that I'm sure of. That the pair of you traveled as well, and not to the moment your counterparts received their bonded wands, Ginny before her first year, and Ron, after Gilderoy destroyed yours in two years, tells me that it is the earliest wand link that matters."

"Okay, so, you were saying something earlier about weighty revelations?" asked Ginny rhetorically.

"Mate, yes, you've lost your wife, but… well, there's always the chance that she's here, or at least, some version of her, is here, and you'll be able to meet here again, and fall in love again, and marry here again."

Ron shook his head silently.

Harry looked to Ginny, who had a similar look of sadness in her face. A glance to the rest of the Weasleys revealed nearly identical expressions on them all, "Okay, what am I missing?"

"She doesn't exist," croaked Ron.

"What?" asked Harry.

"The big things are the same, same Queen, same Sir John at Number Ten, same President Bush over in America," said Ginny, gesturing with her hand first to the direction of London to just north of east, and then Washington, south of west. "But the details, they're different. Elizabeth Teague wasn't born on the Twenty-Third of February in Eighty-Five. Jacob Jones," and he gestured at Ron, "He wasn't born the Fourteenth of September of Eighty-Three. And his future wife, Melissa Pond, she wasn't born either. Neither were my old mum and da, nor the Joneses. I'm willing to bet every Galleon in the Weasley vault against all the Galleons in the Potter vaults that whomever you were before…"

"Richard, Richard Martin," replied Harry numbly.

"Richard Martin, he wasn't born on the Thirteenth of February of Eighty-Four. The Martins won't exist either," Ginny completed her explanation. "We looked it up after the Rat was caught. No record of births at all, neither for us nor our parents. I found my grand mum, but she was killed by a German bomb when she was four."

"Frak," sighed Harry.

Molly looked at Harry sternly, "Just because it's not the same word, doesn't mean I'll let you off the hook for cursing, young man."

The table chuckled sparsely, the sumber mood broken, but not banished.

* * *

><p>"Come into my parlor," said Harry, gesturing for the newly arrived Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and her orphaned niece to follow him. He lead them to what appeared to be a rather odd looking steamer trunk, the lid of which was currently open, and revealed a rather strap set of stairs going down, with what appeared to be a door, if the light seeping around its edge was any indication, at the bottom on the far wall.<p>

"Interesting trunk," said Madam Bones, her signature monocle clenched be cheek and brow. A shy eleven-year old red-head followed her.

"Like I said at the Ministry, I call it my TARDIS. Trunk Apartment, Relatively Desirable In Size. It's a bit of a stretch, but any muggleborn, and probably half of the muggle raised would get the joke, and that's all the matters," explained Harry with a smile. "It's a bit like a magical tent, and provides me with about seven hundred square feet of living space I can take with me darn near anywhere."

"What if someone comes by when we're inside?" asked Susan, peeking around her aunt's arm to look at the magical trunk.

"It uses a form of transmutation to secure itself to whatever I set it on when I enlarged it. Same think that secures it against unlocking charms, since when the lid is closed, the top isn't locked, its solid. All of the controls are rune-based. I barely understand any of it, and that's after a fortnight of reading up on runes, arithmancy, and enchanting."

"It's impressive work," said Madam Bones dryly. "And I assume the Weasleys will be meeting us inside?"

Harry nodded as he stepped over the lip of the trunk and onto the top step, which was at the same level as the floor of the Weasleys empty living room, "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley already checked for bugs, muggle magical, and animagus, and they'll do another sweep once we're down there." He began to carefully descend the stairs to the door, followed by a confident Madam Bones, and eventually, a hesitant Susan.

Once at the bottom, Harry twisted the door handle and pushed the door in, revealing a small hallway with a closet on one side, and the entrance to a galley-style kitchen on the other, "I based the layout on an apartment I was familiar with back in the States." He didn't want to reveal everything before making sure that Rita hadn't tagged along. He was pretty sure she hadn't gotten wind of the meeting, but, channeling Moody, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

Harry stepped to the side and let Madam Bones, and then Susan come into the TARDIS before closing the door behind them. He then touched a rune cluster next to the door and the three of them could hear the slight creak and then the soft thunk of the lid closing. The only other sound was a slight murmuring from down the hall and around the corner.

"Is that safe," asked Madam Bones, "closing the lid while we're inside?"

Harry nodded as the opened the door to the closet, "Yeah, since it's just an Extension Charm tied into the runes we're still just inside the trunk, so you can still Apparate or Portkey out if you feel the need. I've also got a room with an anti-anti-aparition ward set up for emergency evacuations. It's not perfect, and won't work on some of the older sites like Hogwarts, but for most field wards, it'll break through. I'm thinking of picking up a house elf for emergencies, well, and cleaning, I am, well, was, a bachelor."

"Prudent, on both counts," said Madam Bones, taking off her cloak and handing it to Harry, whom hung it on a hanger inside the closet. Susan hesitantly followed her aunt's example and gave Harry her cloak.

"Thank you Susan," said Harry with a smile.

Susan just smiled.

"She's a bit shy around strangers," noted Madam Bones.

"And I'm stranger than most," added Harry with a smile. "You look nice Susan, as do you, Madam Bones," he noted. Susan was wearing a cap-sleeved robe that was cut more like a sundress then a traditional robe, while her aunt was wearing her dark blue robe open, revealing a pair of black trousers and a cream colored blouse.

"Thank you Harry," said Susan softly.

Harry gestured as he closed the closet, "Come on, the living room's a but more spacious." He then lead them down the short, perhaps ten foot long hallway, around a corner, and into an open room. As they did so the murmuring died down as the attention of the room's occupants, save one, was focused on the entering trio.

The near side of the combined living and dining room held a small round table with a trio of chairs around it, while the far side held a pair of comfortable sofas, occupied by seven Weasleys, an empty love seat, and a pair of equally empty chairs, all a plush cream-colored leather and surrounding a low table which was scattered with a couple of muggle-style coffee-table books. The eldest Weasley, Arthur, was reading a larger book, the front of which was titled in an eclectic font, "How Stuff Works". The wall of the living room, and encroaching a bit into the dining room half, was lined with bookshelves. Light was provided with both a ceiling fixture, which glowed with a pale yellow light, and assorted bluebell candles in fixtures on the walls.

"The Boneses are here," said Harry. He gestured in introduction for the sake of Susan, "There on the left are the Twins, Fred and George, or as I like to call them, Forge and Gred. Then there's Percy, he's a rising fifth-year Prefect, and then Ron. On the next sofa are Ginny, she'll be a first year next year, Mrs. Weasley, and behind that book is Mr. Weasley."

The Twins both waved in greeting, and Susan politely waved back.

Harry then pointed to a door on the right wall, "Behind there's the the bathroom, what you'd call a water closet, and my bedroom. I'd rather you not snoop around there, but the bathroom's fine." He then gestured to the love seat as he walked towards one of the chair, "Have a seat, both of you. It'll probably be easiest to take the news sitting down."

Madam Bones lead her niece to the love seat and they both sat down, Susan bouncing slightly on the unfamiliarly soft upholstery.

Harry cleared his throat as he sat, but Arthur only looked away from his book when his wife nudged him in the ribs.

"Sorry," said Arthur with an apologetic smile, "It's quite an interesting book. Makes my attempts at collecting plus and batteries look a bit eccentric."

"You're welcome to it," offered Harry. "But I'd like to get this show on the road, so to speak, so, if you'd like to secure the room?"

Arthur nodded, pulling his wand from a pocket of his ever-present waistcoat. A few softly spoken spells later, and he nodded to Harry, "Room's clear, no bugs, bugs, or bugs present."

Harry chuckled softly, "Thanks Mr. Weasley."

"Call me Arthur," he replied.

"As you wish, Arthur," said Harry with a smile. He then turned to the two Boneses on the love seat, "What I'm about to tell you two in known only to the people in the room and one other person, whom while I don't explicitly trust, I extracted an oath from not to willing reveal."

"Albus?" asked Madam Bones.

"Yes, he found me a few days ago at the Leaky Cauldron. I had to explain why I was no longer staying with the Dursleys after Hagrid sent me back to them following my school shopping."

"And why didn't you?" the silver-haired former auror asked.

"Well, aside from the fact that only an idiot or a masochist would return to an abusive home? I didn't belong there, not after what happened in Diagon Alley on the Thirty-First of July."

"That's when Pettigrew was discovered," noted Madam Bones.

"Exactly, and the two events are linked. What I'm about to tell you in hard to accept, but it is the truth."

Both the Boneses nodded after an affirming nod from the elder Weasleys.

"I have two birthdays. By first birthday is the most well know, that of the Thirty-First of July, Nineteen Hundred Eighty-One, just over eleven years ago. That was when Harry James Potter was born to James and Lily Potter at Saint Mungo's. My second birthday is the Thirteenth of February, Nineteen Hundred Eighty-Four, when Richard James Martin was born at Saint Cantigernus Hospital in London."

"Wait, isn't Saint Cantigernus just another name for Saint Mungo?" asked Susan.

Harry smiled, "Ah, and there, my dear Susan, is the important fact of the matter. You see, when I was born the second time, though from my perspective it was the first time, Saint Mungo's didn't exist, at least, not to my knowledge. I was born in Eighty-Four here in England, but my family, the Martins, moved to the United States in Eighty-Five, where I lived, aside from brief vacations and a short visit for my grandmother's funeral, for nearly twenty-seven years."

"Wait," demanded Madam Bones. "That would make you twenty-eight, not eleven."

"And that's the important point. My mind, who I think I am, is twenty-eight years old, the mind of Richard Martin, born in London, raised in Denver. Computer Science graduate, and computer technician for Denver Public Schools. But, who I am, my body, and more importantly my magic, is Harry Potter, born in London, orphaned in Godric's Hollow, raised in Surrey, and rising First Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, known across the Wizarding World as the Boy-Who-Lived."

"So, who are you?" asked Susan.

"To use the French phrase, _je__m'appelle_ Harry Potter, meaning, I call myself Harry Potter. It is what people see, and what my blood and magic attest to. While my memories may be of Richard Martin, I am, for all intents and purposes, Harry Potter," explained Harry.

"Time Travel?" asked Madam Bones.

"At the very least," said Harry. "And not like a Time Turner either, since only my mind was sent back in time, not my body, and things have changed, greatly, in the fortnight since my… arrival. I believe that the magic had something to do with my wand, since the point of arrival, as well as the point of departure, was the first time I, and Harry, touched the wand."

"If you weren't Harry, then how could you have touched his wand?" asked Susan.

"Ah, and now comes the interesting part," commenting one of the Twins.

"Yes," said Harry with a sidelong glare at the offending Weasley. "You see, when and where I come from, where we," he gestured to Ron and Ginny, whom smiled, "come from, I don't think the magical world exists, at least, not in the same way it does in this world." At the questioning look from both of the Bones women, Harry explained further, "You see, when I was growing up, a series of books were published, seven in all, from Ninety-seven, six years from now, to, I think, Ought-Six or Ought-Seven."

"Oh-Seven mate," corrected Ron. "Deathly Hallows was published in Two-Thousand Seven."

"There you have it, seven books published over a decade, all describing the live, times, and adventures of Harry Potter at Hogwarts in his efforts to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Susan winced at the mention of the taboo name, while Madam Bones raised an eyebrow, the one not holding her monocle, in interest.

"Though, really, his name is Tom Riddle, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the last son of the Gaunt line, the line of Slytherin, and a muggle, making the supposedly pureblood Dark Lord as half-blood," revealed Harry. "And that is but the tip of the proverbial iceberg." He pulled the books off the table, "Madam Bones, I assume you brought the pensieve?"

Madam Bones nodded, then pulled a stone bowl out of a pocket on the inside of her robe, obviously an extended one, and placed the pensieve on the freshly cleared table. "You know how to use this?"

Harry shrugged, tapped his temple with his wand, and extracted the silvery thread of memory, then dropped it into the pensieve with a stir. "That's my memory of my arrival, with a few minutes on either side. I'm pretty sure that's get my point across," he said. He then looked at the small pensieve, "About how many does that fit?"

"Three," stated Madam Bones.

"So, you, Susan, and myself?" asked Harry.

Madam Bones nodded.

"Though, you'll have to show me this part, since I've not actually used a pensieve before, just extracted memories."

"It's quite simple," said Madam Bones with a smile, "Just dip your hand into the liquid of the memory, and you'll enter it."

Harry made a connoted nod, "Good." He then looked to Susan, "Ready?"

"Why tell me?" asked Susan.

"Well, aside from the fact that you and your aunt are the only ones that don't know and believe the circumstances at hand?" asked Harry, to which Susan nodded. "Well, so see, I'm going to need some help. While I know _a_ victory condition, the blood link with Tom during his resurrection combined with mastering the Deathly Hallows, I'm not sure that I want to rely on such a precarious set of circumstances. While I'm resigned to die, for that's the only way _I_ know to destroy the piece of Tom's soul stuck in my scar, I don't really want to stay dead, nor am I a fan of the pain that death would certainly encompass. I also don't want anyone else to die," explained Harry. "And that's why I'm telling you, well, you and your aunt. She needs to know, since she needs to be ready for the coming fight. You need to know because, like it or not, this is our generation's fight. Our parents, they nearly lost their war, it was only the sacrifice of Lily Potter in combination with the prophesy that stopped it when it did. Our war, I don't want to lose, or even rush losing, for if we lose this war, it will mean the end of not just our lives, but our way of life."

"Ah," said Susan.

"On three?" asked Madam Bones.

The three entrants poised their hands at the edge of the pensieve.

"One," said Madam Bones, "Two. Three."

The three of them touched the surface of the memory at the same time, and were mentally whisked into the events.

* * *

><p>"Where are we?" asked Susan, looking around at the living room they stood it. It was rather more spacious than that of the TARDIS, and had windows offering a view of a large snow-covered lawn and a asphalt covered street beyond.<p>

"This is my parents' house, in America; just outside of Denver, Colorado. Ah, here we come," said Harry, as a pair of adults came into the room. The younger of the two was a tall overweight man with long brown hair pulled back at the base of his head, with glasses and a rough goatee. He was wearing sandals, cargo shorts, and a black t-shirt with an appropriately pithy and geeky saying.

"What does it mean that Joss Whedon is your master now?" asked Madam Bones.

Harry chuckled, "The reference would take too long to explain. That's, obviously, me, and that's," he pointed to the shorter woman, who while curvy, was not as overweight as her son, "My mum."

"Thanks for having me over mum," said Richard in the memory. "And that's for the cake, you really shouldn't have."

"You're my little boy," said the woman in a fading British accent, so faded that it was hard to tell exactly which region of England she'd originally hailed from. "And I'll always have time for my little boy."

"Mum, I'm twenty-eight, and I'm not exactly little anymore," noted Richard, patting his belly.

"Pish, you'll always be my little boy. But, here," she picked up a wrapped box from the table, "have your present."

Richard accepted the box, which was just over a foot long, three inches wide, and two thick, he hefted it in his hand, checking its weight, before shrugging and ripping off the wrapping paper. He scrunched up his face in inquiry when he discovered the polished wooden box beneath. "What is it?"

"Open it," offered his mother with a shooing motion.

Richard undid the clasp, and smiled as he looked inside.

"Okay, now, watch out, here's the transition," warned Harry as his memory of his former self began to reach into the case to extract that which was within.

As soon as Richard's fingers touched the polished holly of the replica wand inside the velvet lined case, the memory suddenly changed, and instead of a upper middle class living room in middle America, they were inside the familiar confines of Ollivander's wand shop, watching Harry, with shorter hair, glasses, and green eyes, with his hand up in the air, and the last sparks, signifying a wand finding its wizard, trailing towards the ceiling.

"Oh bravo! Yes indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious," said Ollivander as the Half-Giant Hagrid clapped and whooped by the door to the shop.

The memory of Harry looked around, surprised at what he saw and what he held.

"'Arry?" asked Hagird, "Is everything al'right?"

"Wow, quite the discontinuity," noted Madam Bones as she looked around the memory of Ollivander's.

"Mr. Potter," asked the memory of Ollivander. The memory of Harry turned to the skinny old man he didn't recognize, who then asked, "The wand please?"

"Okay, I've seen enough," said Madam Bones with a smirk. She looked to Susan, who hadn't moved at all since arriving in the memory. The memory faded around them, and suddenly they found themselves sitting back around the coffee table with the Weasleys looking expectantly at the three of them.

* * *

><p>"Wow," said Susan, finally finding her voice now that she was out of the memory. "That… well… you did not make a pretty fat man."<p>

Harry chuckled, "No, no I did not. I've seen worse, but no, I was not a handsome young man."

"Why the shorts and sandals?" asked Susan.

"Really, you're asking about my wardrobe?" asked Harry, to which she just nodded. Harry then shrugged, "Well, I had a car, and I worked inside all day. One wardrobe kept me find summer or winter. At least I wasn't wearing socks as well."

Ron and Ginny joined Harry in a chuckle. When the magically raised looked confused, Harry replied, "Muggle reference. So, now, do you believe me?" He looked to Madam Bones.

She nodded, "I do, though I'd like to see more evidence to support your claims, but yes, as of right now, I believe you."

Harry nodded, "Well, I gave my best memories of the movies to Albus, but," he looked to Ron and Ginny, "Would you like to contribute a bit to the cause?"

"I wouldn't lose them, would I?" asked Ginny.

"No, I'll just duplicate them," said Madam Bones.

At that, Harry chuckled.

"What's so funny, Mr. Potter?" the older witch asked.

"Albus just took mine, I don't have my memories. I'll have to get them back from him," Harry replied.

"So," asked Ginny, "How exactly does this work?"

"Wand tip to temple, think of the memory, and pull to extract," replied Madam Bones.

"Um, slight problem. No wand," offered Ginny.

"I'll do it," said Ron, pulling his wand out of a pocket of his robes and extracting a long strand of memory. "Where should I?"

Madam Bones waved her wand and conjured a glass jar, into which Ron carefully placed the memory.

"Which movie was that?" asked Harry.

"I summary video one of my students found for me last year before the last movie came out. Covers most of the relevant plot points, not perfect, but at half an hour, it's a bit easier than eight two hour films."

"Indeed."

"So, that should help, but, why don't you tell me, and Susan, the highlights?" asked Madam Bones.

To that the three travelers told the basic story as written, and filmed, to the Boneses, each young wizard or witch adding points the others had forgotten. Even the older Weasleys added bits that they'd been told, and the three confirmed with apology. Eventually, about two hours later, a rough outline of what could have been was imparted upon the Director of Magical Law Enforcement and her eleven year old niece.

"That's," began Susan haltingly. "That's quite the story. I'm not sure if I want to fight a war. I'm only eleven."

"So am I, at least, I am now. I don't want to fight this war either, Susan. I want to learn about magic, find a woman to love, and then have lots of children. I want my children to grow up to be strong and healthy. But, if we can't defeat Tom, if _I_ can't defeat Tom, then that dream, that desire, will not happen. I'll be lucky to survive Hogwarts if I don't fight, and I fear that you might be collateral damage. Even if I run, run to the farthest edge of the world, he'll still come back. Those pieces of his soul, they anchor him to this world, keep him from truly passing on. Then he'll attack Britain, and I fear that if he does that, he'll win, and Britain will fall. After that, he'll attack Europe, and it'll fall. Then the rest of the world, and I'll have nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide, and then, finally, after I've run as far as I can, he'll come for me, and if I'm not prepared, if I'm not ready to fight him, I'll die, and then so will the hope of the world."

Susan blanched and buried her face in her aunt's side, trying to hide from the truth.

"I know it's hard, it took me a week to fully realize just what I had to do. You don't have to fight, but, well, I know you have it in you to be a great and powerful witch, and a great and powerful warrior. He stole your parents, stole your childhood, and if you let him, he'll steal your life. We are both orphans, and if Tom has his way, we'll not be alone in that. Help me, at least, don't run from the chance to help me, prevent any more orphans."

Susan sobbed a bit, but then sniffed back her tears and looked hard at Harry, "For my mum and dad."

"For Lily and James," said Harry.

"For Fabian and Gideon," added Ron.

"For all those that have died," finalized Ginny.

Susan nodded, "I'll fight along with you."

"Thank you," said Harry. He then looked at Madam Bones, "If you can help us, that would be great. I don't know a thing about fighting, at least, not magically, and all my muggle skills were learned from games."

Madam Bones nodded, "I'll do what I can."

"That's all I can ask. I know it's a lot, but this is a battle for our world's future, one that we can't risk losing," said harry passionately.

"Anything else I can help you with?" asked Madam Bones.

"Sirius," said Harry. "I know all that's left in the official pardoning, or whatever, but I need you help getting him to accept me. I plan on telling him the truth, and I fear that, unlike the Weasleys, whom accepted Ron and Ginny after their arrival and replacement of their children, he'll reject me. I need you to help me explain to him that, while I might not have been raised as Harry Potter, I am still the son of James and Lily, and I still need his help, and hopefully his guardianship, if I'm to live."

Madam Bones nodded, "I'll do what I can."

Harry nodded as well, "Did you still want that memory of my meeting with Dumbledore?" When Madam Bones nodded, Harry extracted the silver stand of memory, placed it another conjured jar, which, along with the donated memory from Ron, was duplicated.

"Just do a reverse of the extraction to put it back in," said Madam Bones as the two eleven year old wizards looked at their original memories. They shrugged, stuck their wands into the jars, pulled out the strands of memory, canted their heads to the side, Harry to the left, and Ron to the right.

"It tickles," said Harry as the end of the memory touched his temple and stuck like a magnet. He then lowered his arm slowly, and the memory slid back into his recollection. He shook his head briefly, then smiled at Madam Bones, as Ron finished recalling his memory across the room, "Thank you, now I just have to get Albus to duplicate and return my memories."

* * *

><p>Harry knocked gently on the door of the private room at Saint Mungo's, glancing to the red-robed Auror who was guarding it, who was instead glancing at Madam Bones, who was escorting Harry.<p>

"Who is it?" came the gruff voice from inside.

"Harry," he said hesitantly. He wasn't sure why he was so nervous. He didn't know Sirius, and Sirius had only known a version of Harry that not only had been only a year old, but truly no longer existed. But, in the nearly three weeks since his arrival in Diagon Alley, he'd been looking foreword to this meeting, and he wasn't sure why. Was it that he wanted that relationship that Harry would have had with Sirius? He didn't need a father figure, he'd had a father his entire life, unlike the original Harry. He didn't need to connect with the past of James Potter, since, again, he didn't need a connection to a father that wasn't, in his mind, his. So, why was he nervous, waiting for Sirius to meet him?

"He said you can come in," said Madam Bones after clearing her throat to get Harry's attention.

"Eh, sorry, must have lost myself in thought for a moment," said Harry with a blush. He then took a deep breath, steeling himself, and opened the door to the hospital room.

"Hey Pronglet," said Sirius from the bed. Then, to the woman accompanying him, "Madam Bones."

"Mr. Black," noted the older witch.

"So, should I call your Mr. Black too?" asked Harry, already knowing the answer.

Sirius shook his head, "Sirius. Call me Sirius. Damn, you look a lot like your father, but I could have sworn you had your mother's eyes."

Harry smiled, and walked further into the room, letting Madam Bones close the door behind her. "Contacts," explained Harry. "My eyes are like Lily's, but I didn't want the glasses, nor the trouble that I fear having Lily's eyes would cause at Hogwarts, what with Professor Snape being the Potion's Master."

"Snivellus is a Professor?" asked Sirius astonished. "Merlin, things have really gone downhill in the last decade."

"I doubt it's his chosen profession," said Harry, walking over to take a seat by Sirius' bed. "But, let's not talk about him, we need to talk about you, me, guardianship, and, well, something else."

"Where've you been living, pup?" asked Sirius.

"Well, for the last week I've been living with the Weasleys. Their youngest son, Ron, he's gonna be a first year with me, and his sister, Ginny, she's gonna be a first year next year."

"And before that?"

"I stayed at the Leaky Cauldron since my birthday, seeing as it was preferable to the alternative," said Harry, telling just enough truth to get Sirius even more friendly.

"Why? What about Frank and Alice? I thought you'd be living with them and Neville, Alice is your godmother you know," asked Sirius.

"The Longbottoms, well," he paused to glance over at Madam Bones, as if looking for permission, which she gave with a silent nod, "They've been in the long term spell damage ward here since late Eighty-One. Neville was raised by his grand mum."

"And what's with your accent? You sound like a bloody Yank?"

Harry chuckled, "I was hoping we'd get to that matter a bit later, but I guess, well, let's just say 'it's complicated'."

"I'm not going anywhere," noted Sirius. "They've got me under observation for the next month, make sure I'm healthy enough to reenter society."

Harry bit his lower lip, "Well. It's a long story, and it starts with the night you handed your godson to Hagrid. He took the infant to Dubledore, who placed him in the care of his maternal aunt and her husband, both muggles."

"Petunia?" asked Sirius. "You were raised by Petunia? But, she hated magic."

"Still does," noted Harry. "But, that's neither here nor there. After nearly a decade with the Dursleys, Hagrid once again rescued your godson, then time early in the morning of his eleventh birthday."

"Why the third person? Shouldn't this be full of 'me's and 'I's?" He looked from Harry to Madam Bones.

"Here him out," she said.

"I'm almost finished," acknowledge Harry. "Hagrid took your godson to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies, starting first with a visit to Gringotts. After shopping for all the supplies, their last visit was to Ollivander's, for the purchase of a wand. The process with long and arduous, but eventually a suitable wand was found. Eleven inches of holly with a phoenix father core, a phoenix feather that came from the same phoenix that gave the core to the wand belonging to one Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Okay, I feel like I should know who that is," said Sirius. "And you still haven't explained the third person narrative."

"When your godson touched his wand for the first time, something happened, and I suddenly found myself holding a wand in Ollivander's shop."

Sirius looked upset, and glanced at Madam Bones, "You believe this?"

She nodded, "I do."

"Who are you then?" asked Sirius of Harry, a harsh bite to his question.

"I was born Richard Martin, here in London, but raised in America, where I living until my twenty-eighth birthday, when I received a present of a replica wand. Eleven inches of holly. When I picked it up, I suddenly, as I said, found myself in Ollivander's. Now, here's the interesting part. I'm not from this universe. If you were to look, you'd not find a record of a Richard Martin being born in London, nor having moved to America with his parents. You would also not find record of the seven books and eight movies, well, at least before my arrival here, related to the life and times of one Harry Potter, telling of his adventures at Hogwarts and his eventual defeat of a half-blood born as Tom Marvolo Riddle, the same Tom Riddle who's wand shares a core with my own, more commonly known by a partial anagram of his name, Lord Voldemort."

Sirius chuckled, "The Dark Wanker a half-blood? Ha, that's rich, pull the other one, it's got bells on it."

"I know it's hard to accept, but, yes, Tom is a half-blood, not that it matters, for he lusts after one thing, and one thing only, power. The Purebloods were the easiest route to power, since they have all the money and power in the Wizarding World. If you want, I can lend you a couple of memories, or give them to you, since I now know how to duplicate them, so that you can see the truth of what I say," offered Harry.

"So, why are you here?" asked Sirius.

"I need your help. Outside of a small group, of which you are the newest member, everyone else knows me as an eleven-year old, even if an unnaturally mature one. I need an ally, someone who can help me prepare for the coming war. I hope that you can be that ally. Legally, you are my godfather, and now that you're no longer a prisoner, you can become my guardian. As much as I love the Weasleys for offering me their home, they have their own problems with Ron and Ginny, and I don't want to impose myself upon them any longer than strictly necessary."

"What's wrong with Ron and Ginny?" asked Sirius.

"They're like me, displaced in time. I think that, sometime in a future that is no longer going to happen, Harry, Ron, and Ginny did some sort of ritual or spell that was supposed to send themselves back into their younger bodies, only, something went wrong, and instead, the three of us were sent instead. Ron and Ginny have the natural support of their new family, and I've been graciously welcomed into that family, but I'm still an outsider, not truly family, and while I'm sure it won't be a problem between now and September, come Christmas or Summer, I'll not be able to comfortable inflict myself upon them. So, I ask you. I need an ally, and adult who's help me in my coming trials, and you need family as well, and a connection to your lost friends. I may not truly be the son of James and Lily, but I'm alone in this world, and you can teach me about my new family, about who the Potters were, about what it means to be a Potter."

Sirius nodded, "Okay, I think I can do that." He chuckled, "It helps that you've got Amelia at your back nodding her head in confirmation, but yeah, I think I can do that."

"Thanks Sirius," said Harry, letting out a relieved sigh. He then turned to Madam Bones, "Thank you. You've been a great help."

"It was my please, Mr. Potter," she said with a smile. She then nodded to Sirius, "Mr. Black."

"Amelia," nodded Sirius.

Once Madam Bones had left the room, Harry got a big smile on his face, "So, tell me about the Marauders."

Sirius got an equally wide grin on his face, and began to tell Harry about his time at Hogwarts, about the adventures of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's<strong>**Note:** Okay, another chapter down, and I'm pushing things along rather quickly, I know. I've made Susan an orphan because it makes things easier, and because we never really learned about who Susan's parents were, she only ever referred to Amelia as family. Mind you, we never really got a glimpse at much of Hermione's parents either, just that they exist, which is more than we did of Susan's.

**Recommendation:** This week's recommendation is _Magical__Relations_ by **evansentranced** (FF(don)net ID# 3446796). A what if story of Dudley being a muggleborn wizard and accompanying Harry to Hogwarts, I first read this one in December of last year. It's Slytherin!Harry and Gryffindor!Dudley (though, I think the author mostly did that so that he could repeat the Harry-Ron relationship as Dudley-Ron). It's not, in my mind, the definitive Slytherin!Harry story, that'll be next week's recommendation, but it's pretty good in it's own right. It influenced my writing of _Rose__Potter_, at least, in that I didn't think Petunia would have been quite as put out of Dudley had gotten magic, which influenced how I wrote Petunia's reaction to a niece deposited on her doorstep rather than a nephew. It's a bit slow updating, but since I've not written nearly as much as the author in not nearly as much time, I'm not exactly one to point fingers.

_Published November 25, 2011_


	8. Chapter 7

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Chapter 7**

"Come on!" whinged Harry, "I don't want to be late. Look, we all know where the Platform is, and there's no reason to be late. I have to make a good impression. Plus, the Boneses are going to be there in like, five minutes, and I don't want to be late. Madam Bones is, right now, my, our, best ally, and I don't want to get on her bad side if we show up late."

"You know," began Ron, "This would be a lot easier if you actually, you know, helped." He gestured from the trunk laden trolley to Harry, who's only luggage was his ever-present haversack. "And where's Hedwig? I thought she was coming to Hogwarts."

"She decided she didn't want to spend who knows who wrong in the TARDIS, so I let her fly up to Hogwarts last night. Should be queen of the Owlery before be even get halfway there," Harry said with a smile. "And you know, I did off the TARDIS for your trunk." He nodded his head to the Twins, who were, like him, bereft of luggage. "Even they took my up on my offer."

"What if we aren't in the same House?" asked Ron, who took the lead and pushed his trolley towards Kings Cross. The Anglia had been parked a few blocks away from the station, down what was, to Harry, a surprisingly residential street.

"And what if we aren't?" asked Harry. "It's not like it'll be hard to unpack the trunks on the Express just before we get to Hogsmede, or even, perish the thought, after the sorting. They've got the map with them, so it's not like they're going to have trouble finding me, no matter which House I'm in."

Ron sighed and paused at the corner, waiting for the signal to cross, "How exactly are they planning on keeping Hogwarts secret?"

"Okay, that's a digression," noted Harry, leaning on a stantion.

Ron pointed to a white camera positioned on a pole overlooking the intersection, "That's a CCTV camera. In a decade, there'll be twice as many in London, and by the time we've looped back around, they'll be on every corner, looking down every alley, and making it nearly impossible to walk down a street without being watched. What happens to the four hundred year old Statute then?"

Harry shrugged as they crossed the street, "Don't know, but, if all else fails, we can always write some books and break the magical world that way. Heck, we probably should anyway. I haven't made a knut off of the books published so far, but I'm sure if we can get the books published out here, in the non-magical world, we'll not have to worry about the Weasley financial woes. Wasn't Rowling like, the most wealthy woman in Britain?"

"You plan on writing them?" asked Ron, pushing his trolley towards the doors to the station.

Harry shook his head as he held open the door from Ron and his trunk laden trolley, "Nah, I'm thinking of getting a pensieve and just publishing the books verbatim."

The two continued to talk, the Twins following a short distance behind, and Percy and Molly bringing up the rear of the group. They wound their way through the station, eventually finding their way to the hidden entrance to Platform 9 3/4.

"So, ready?" asked Ron, who was gripping the handle of his trolley a bit tighter than was strictly necessary.

Harry shrugged, "No house elves to bar the way, and we've got the Twins, Perce, and your mum to help us if we bollocks it."

"Wait, I thought they used different slang in America?" asked Ron, noticing the uniquely British word in his friend's comment.

"Hey, mum was British too, andI have to admit, I was, well, am, a bit of an Anglophile. Haven't you noticed yet that I you 'mum' instead of 'mom'?"

"What?" asked Ron, confused.

Harry shook his head and walked confidently towards the divider, the pep talk Sirius had given him when they'd talked two days before had been enough to get him to trust that the magic would let him through.

Ron followed shortly afterwards, and nearly ran Harry over in his haste.

"Hey!" exclaimed Harry as he jumped out of the way of Ron's trunk laden trolley. "You almost ran me over."

"You left me alone, and I didn't want the Twins to catch up and make fun of me," said Ron with a bit of a blush. "Plus, you didn't explain what you meant."

"What, they I say 'mum' instead of 'mom'? Ron, remember, America and Britain, two countries divided by a common language. Americans call their mothers 'mom', while us Brits, we can our mothers 'mum'. Sort of like Ginny calling your dad 'da', a regional variant so to speak."

Just then the Twins sauntered through the barrier and right up to Ron and Harry.

"Thank you-"

"Harry for the use-"

"Of your Trunk."

"That was the-"

"Easiest walk to here-"

"Ever," the pair finished in unison.

"Harry!" shouted a familiar female voice, which caused the four guys to turn, catching sight of Susan and her aunt.

"Susan!" exclaimed Harry as the aforementioned eleven year old wrapped him in a hug.

"I was worried you two would get lost, or have the entrance sealed, or something else. Why didn't you just use the floo?" Susan asked, releasing her hug and stepping back from Harry.

"Wait, we could have flooed?" asked Harry.

Susan pointed to the other end of the Plaform, where a bank of large hearths were disgorging students and their families.

"Ah, well, I guess the Weasleys arriving late via King's Cross proper is tradition," guessed Harry.

The Twins both shrugged.

"First time for us," said the one on the left, who in Harry's mind was always Forge.

"Yeah, mum's been taking us boys here by floo since Bill started," continued Gred.

Harry buried his face in his palm, and shook his head, "Don't' say it Ron. I already know."

"Well, it was your idea," said Ron with a smile.

"I told you not to say it," Harry said, then chuckled. He then sighed deeply, stood up straight, and then smiled. "That just proves that I'm not perfect. I like knowing that I'm not omniscient, helps to keep me humble."

"That's good to know, Mr. Potter," said the mature voice of Madam Bones.

"Ah, thank you Madam Bones."

"You know, she told you that you could call her Amelia, right?" asked Ron conspiratorially of Harry.

"Yes Ron, I know. It's just, well, she's the Director of the DMLE, I want to show some respect."

"And I appreciate the effort, Mr. Potter," said Amelia, "But, you are my niece's friend, and as such, I insist that you call me Amelia."

"As long as you call me Harry, Ma… Amelia," asked Harry.

Amelia Bones nodded, "Of course Harry."

Harry smiled.

"Ready to board?" asked Ron, looking first to Susan, and then to Harry.

Susan nodded, while Harry shrugged, "Not a problem. We've got a few more minutes before the 'all aboard', so we might as well make the most of it." He then turned to Susan, "Did you need help getting your trunk onto the Express?"

She shook her head, "Nah, Aunty shrunk it for me. All I have to do it tap it with my wand, and it'll grow." She patted her purse, which was nearly as large as Harry's haversack, "I've got it in my purse."

Harry then looked to Ron, "Shall we then?"

Ron rolled his eyes and then began to push his trunk laden trolley towards the scarlet carriage before him.

"I guess that's a yes," said Harry with a smile.

Just before Harry was about to get onto the Express, after helping Susan up onto the carriage, and helping Ron lift his trunk off of the trolley, her heard a boy about his age whinge, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh Neville," sighed an older woman as Harry turned.

Neville and his Gran looked closer to what he'd imagined from the books and movies that most of the people he'd met. Neville was an inch or two taller than he was, but pudgy, like he'd been kept inside the house for most of his youth and never got out to play. Knowing that until just recently Neville'd been thought a squib, that was probably true. His Gran, Augusta Longbottom, was tall, thin, and severe looking witch, with her trademark stuffed vulture hat and her bright red handbag.

Harry then turned back to Susan and Ron, who were looking out from the entrance to the carriage, "Hey guys, I'll just be a minute. I've got to go help Neville."

"Good luck," said Ron with a bit of a chuckle.

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed the platform towards the Longbottoms. As he walked, he unslung one of the arms of his haversack, and reached into the main pocket.

"My word," said Madam Longbottom, catching sight of Harry.

"What?" asked Neville, turning quickly.

"Harry Potter?" asked Neville's Gran.

Harry looked surprised, "Why, yes, yes I am. I'm surprised you noticed me."

"Even with you hair slicked back, and somehow your eyes are blue rather than your mother's green, my Frank was friends with your parents, and you do look just like your father did when he was off to Hogwarts," the elder witch explained.

"Ah, well, that explains it. I do hope that the resemblance isn't quite enough to upset Professor Snape, though," said Harry with a sigh.

"Why'd he get upset?" asked Neville. He then pointed at what Harry had removed from his haversack, "And what's that?"

Harry smiled, and presented the plastic terrarium with a folding handle to Neville, "This is a terrarium. I heard you were having trouble with your toad, and I thought, well, once you do find him, this would be a good place to keep him so he doesn't get lost."

Neville cautiously took the gift, "T-t-thank you."

"No problem, mate," said Harry with a smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. I'm sure Neville will be able to keep his toad from getting lost in the future, now that he has your most insightful gift," said Augusta Longbottom.

Harry shrugged, "Well, after the trial of the traitor, I thought I'd have something with me to keep any stray animagi in, you know, just in case."

"Most… prudent," the older witch said suspiciously.

"Neville, did you want to sit with me?" asked Harry, nodding with his head towards the train.

Neville scrunched up his face in thought.

"It'll be fine; just me, Ron Weasley, and Susan Bones. We're all really nice, not like some people at all. Plus, since we're all first years, we can be friends as well," offered Harry.

Neville looked to his Gran, who nodded, "Of course you can Neville, just make sure you find Trevor before you get too comfortable."

"Have you thought of summoning him?" asked Harry.

Augusta looked at Harry as if he'd said something both completely logical and yet completely insane, "Why didn't I think of that?" She reached into her handbag and extracted her wand, and with an "_Accio__Trevor_" a few seconds later was handing a formerly errant amphibian to her grandson.

"Trevor!" said Neville excitedly. Harry then showed him how to but Trevor into the terrarium, before the pair of them hauled Neville's trunk onto the train.

* * *

><p>Harry peeked through the window into the compartment, then looked back at Neville, "Ah, here we are." He then slid open the compartment door, and helped Neville with his trunk. Once the trunk was on one of the overhead racks, across from Ron's, Harry smiled.<p>

He gestured to Susan, "Neville, may I introduce Susan Bones, heir of the Bones family, and my friend."

Neville fell back upon his pureblood society training, bowed slightly, took Susan's hand in his, and kissed the back of her hand, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Bones."

Susan blushed and Harry and Ron rolled their eyes.

"If you're done?" asked Harry, which caused Neville to blush. He then gestured to Ron, who gave a bit of a wave, "Neville, may I introduce Ronald Weasley, youngest son of Arthur Weasley, and my friend."

Ron and Neville shook hands.

Harry then sat down next to Susan as Neville took the seat opposite next to Ron.

"So, ready for Hogwarts?" asked Harry.

Neville shrugged, "Not s-sure." He then hefted the plastic terrarium with Trevor, "Though, now that I won't lose Trevor as often, it'll pr-pr-probably be easier."

Ron chuckled, "Breathe Nev, breathe. Take your time, compose your thoughts, and breathe. Makes the words come out much easier mate."

Neville took a breath, composing his thoughts," Thanks. I get nervous, you know. Thought I was a squib for so long."

Harry shook his head, "Nev, buck up. It'll fine. The Longbottom family has a long and proud history, and heck, if you look far enough back, we're cousins."

"Cousins?" asked Neville.

"Yeah, Sirius walked me through the family tree, at least, of the Blacks. Let's see, if I remember correctly, your great-grandfather Harfang married Callidora Black. Her sister, Cedrella, married Septimus Weasley, Ron's grandfather. So you two are second cousins, once removed. Your great-great-grandfather, Arcturus Black, his younger brother Cygnus's daughter Dorea married Charlus Potter, my grandfather. So that makes us third cousins, once removed, but Ron and I, we're just third cousins," explained Harry.

"Wow," said Neville, "I didn't think I had any family, except Uncle Algie, Aunt Enid, and Gran."

"Ah, well, I thought I was much the same way, at first, when I discovered the magical world," explained Harry. "I was raised in America, you see, and thought I had family there, but when I got here, I learned that they weren't my real family, that my real mum and dad, they died. Thought I was alone until Ron and his sister there caught Pettigrew, and got my godfather released. Sirius, he told me about the Black family, about how it was related to all the other pureblood families, or at least a fair number of them."

"I think I have a great-great-great grandmother who was a Black, maybe a generation or two further back, but yeah," commented Susan, not wanting to be left out of the budding family reunion.

"Please don't tell me that Sue," said Harry.

"Why?" asked Susan, confused. "You don't want to be related to me?"

"Yes," said Harry. When Susan looked offended he quickly amended, "Not that I don't like you, but, well, remember, I was raised muggle. If you know how closely your related to a girl, you're too closely related, you know…" He paused, bowed his head, and shook it, "Sorry Sue, shouldn't have brought it up."

Susan hugged Harry with one arm, "It's alright Harry, I understand what you mean. I was just playing with you."

"You know we're too young to think about that," noted Ron. He and Harry had talked since meeting each other about the rather odd situation they'd be in, dating wise at least, in the future. They both thought of themselves as nearly thirty, and since they'd both worked in education, at least peripherally in Harry's case, they both understood the connotations of thinking about their fellow students in _that_ 'd agreed that, since sixteen was the age of consent, they'd wait until then to think about dating any of the girls, though Harry had mentioned the possibility of the Yule Ball during the Tournament in three years, but Ron said that they'd "burn that bridge when they came to it".

Just then the train lurched into motion, and the four eleven year olds decided that it was now or never, and waved a final goodbye to their friends and family still on the platform.

"So," asked Neville a few minutes later as the Express began to wind its way through the northern suburbs of London, "How'd you three meet?"

"Well, like I said, I met Ron here after he and his sister caught Pettigrew. It was the last day of the trial, when Pettigrew got sentenced," explained Harry.

"So, Harry snuck into the courtroom, wearing that stupid baseball cap of his," continued Ron, pointing at the omnipresent black cap with the ornate red "B".

"It's not stupid," challenged Harry.

"What's baseball?" asked Neville.

Susan shrugged, "A muggle game, and not even a proper British muggle game, but some American muggle game."

"Let's just call it complicated and leave it at that," explained Harry with a wave of his hand. "So, as Ron said, I snuck into the Courtroom, though sneaking is such a strong word. I just entered without notice. Once the trial was over, and the Weasleys, that is, Ron, Ginny, that's Ron's little sister, and their Mum and Dad, were taking with Madam Bones."

"That's my Aunty, and she told you to call her Amelia," interrupted Susan in clarification.

"Ah, but she hasn't given Nev that permission, so I didn't want to confuse him," countered Harry.

"Anyway, he come down," Ron said, continuing the story, "and walks up to us in the front row, and thanks us for putting Pettigrew away."

"They were shocked to say the least," said Harry. "So, Molly invites me over for lunch, and then Arthur invites Madam Bones, one of his supervisors I might add, over for dinner."

"And she brings me," explains Susan, continuing the half-truths that the three families had agreed to tell.

"So, after I hit it off with Ron and Ginny, Susan goes and inserts herself, and the four of us become friends. We've been hanging out off and on for the last two weeks, when I haven't been learning my Wizarding history from Sirius," said Harry.

"You mean learning how to prank," joked Ron.

"I was learning Wizarding history. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Just because some of that history includes the exploits of my father and his friends at Hogwarts is a fringe benefit," countered Harry. "That's actually where I learned about you, how your mum and dad were friends with my mum and dad."

"So, y-y-you're all friends," asked Neville.

"Yeah," said Harry, nonchalant.

"Oh," said Neville with a sigh.

Ron, realizing what Neville was really asking, adds, "You want to be our friend too?"

Neville brightens rather suddenly, "Really?"

"Of course," said Harry, realizing his mistake, "I thought it was already settled."

"Oh, well, I've never really had friends before," admitted Neville.

"Me neither," admitted Susan, "Aside from Hannah, but we're practically sisters. I never had new friends until these two, and Ginny of course, and now you."

"Friends," said Neville with a sigh, "I have friends."

"Always Nev," said Harry with conviction, knowing what potential Neville had within him, "Always."

* * *

><p>Harry, Ron, Susan, and Neville talked amongst themselves as they made their way north. The subject matter was kept fairly light, mainly talking about their pasts, their likes and dislikes, and their mutual distain for quidditch.<p>

"I mean, really, what's the point of the seeker anyway?" asked Harry, as he munched on a chocolate frog that he'd purchased. "They contribute nothing to the game that the rest of the players are playing, except to act as a magnet for the occasional bludger."

"Wait, what's a magnet again?" asked Neville.

"Um, sorta like a lodestone, but smaller and stronger. Attracts and sticks to most metals," explained Ron, who had used his father's love of all things muggle to explain away his extensive knowledge of all things muggle.

"So, anyway, the game's not over until the snitch it caught, which can take anywhere from five minutes to five days," sighed Harry. "What sort of game has that sort of variation? I mean, really, it's as bad as cricket."

"What's an insect have to do with quidditch?" asked Susan.

"It's a muggle game, a bit like baseball. Pitch is about the same size as a quidditch pitch, well, Cricket, Polo, and Aussie Rules Football too. Takes forever like a really long quidditch game," explained Harry, stretching his meager knowledge of the quintessentially British game. He'd watched a few matches, but had gotten bored watching a test match when he was twelve and had abandoned interest in the game. "So, takes forever unless the snitch is caught early, and then it really doesn't matter what the rest of the team does. Only if the sides are mismatched does the rest of the team matter, and then, it's more of a test of who's the better seeker than which team is better. I bet you can find a team that is built around a seeker, and possibly a decent keeper to keep the opposing team's score below a hundred and fifty."

"So, remove the seeker, and then what? How do you determine who wins the game? When does it end?" asked Susan.

"I don't know, use a clock?" asked Harry sarcastically.

"What?" asked Neville.

"A clock, use it to time the game. Highest score after, say, two hours is the winner. You don't even have to get rid of the seeker in that case, just end the game early if they catch the snitch. Makes the rest of the game much more interesting," offered Harry.

Ron had remained silent, for while he agreed with Harry that quidditch made no sense, he couldn't use the same arguments, since he was supposed to know more about the Wizarding World than the Muggle one.

As Harry began to discuss with Susan and Neville the implications of a time limit on a game of quidditch, the compartment door slid open. The four friends looked up and two of them immediately looked despondent.

"Is it true?" asked the pale blond, immediately recognizable to both Ron and Harry as one Draco Malfoy.

"is what true?" asked Harry, knowing the answer to his counter-question already.

"They're saying up and down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment," replied Draco. He nodded to Harry in his baseball cap, "So it's you, is it?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, you got me. I'm Harry Potter. What of it?" He looked over Draco's shoulder at Crabbe and Goyle, still standing out in the passage.

"I see you've noticed me friends," said Draco, noticing Harry's sight lines. He turned slightly and gestured to one of his "friends", who had short cropped black hair, "This is Crabbe." He then gestured to the other one, who was a of a similar build but with short cropped brown hair, "And this is Goyle."

"Crabbe," said Harry with a nod, "Goyle." He then looked back at Draco, "Do they have first names?"

"Vincent and Greg, respectively," replied Draco with a dismissive tone.

"And you are?" asked Harry.

"Draco Malfoy," he replied. "We didn't properly meet at Madam Malkins, but I'm pretty sure you had a different accent at the time."

"An affectation," replied Harry. "I've since decided to drop it, since I was told I wasn't doing it very well." He then turned and gestured at his friends, "And these are my friends: Susan Bones, Neville Longbottom, and Ronald Weasley."

Draco scoffed, "How could I not know a Weasley? Or the infamous squib Longbottom? Or the only family of the Director of the DMLE? Surely you didn't think I'd be as ignorant as you Potter?"

"Oh, I'm not so sure of that, Draco. And please, do call me Harry, we are cousins after all," replied Harry.

"Cousins?" asked Draco.

"Surely you knew that we were cousins, I thought you weren't as ignorant as me?" said asked Harry with a chuckle. "I believe that we're second cousins, once removed, through my great-grandfather Cygnus Black, who I believe is your great-great grandfather, as opposed to your grandfather Cygnus, who was my first cousin, one removed. In fact, aside from Miss Bones, who I'm unsure of where she fits into things, and I'm not exactly inclined to know, the four of us, Ron, Neville, you, and me, we're all cousins of various sorts, and that's just through the Black family. I think The Crabbes are related to your branch of the Blacks, so you and Greg are cousins of some sort, though I can't say anything about Vinny's family, since I've only learned about the Black family from Sirius."

Draco, for the first time in his interactions with people his age, was speechless.

"You alright Draco?" asked Ron.

"I don't need your concern, Weasley. I don't need the concern of a red-haired, freckle-faced blood traitor who's family has more children then they can afford," snapped Draco, at which Harry chuckled. "What's so funny Potter?"

Harry shook his head, "Sorry, you said something funny."

"You think I'm funny?" asked Draco, malice dripping from his words.

"No, it's what you said. You see, Ron and I, we had a bit of a bet, whether you'd bring up his family if you showed up, and if so, what you'd say. I was just laughing because he just won a dozen galleons off me," Harry replied, lying. He was instead laughing about how accurate Draco's rant was when compared to the canonical rant that he'd tried to derail. It seemed that the universe just wanted to go a certain way, a revelation that would haunt him for the next seven years.

"Pay up mate," said Ron jokingly.

Harry reached over to his haversack and pulled out his money pouch. He then poured it out into his palm, revealing that he had more than the dozen galleons he'd give to Ron for winning the supposed bet. He grabbed the dozen coins and handed them to Ron before emptying his palm back into the pouch, and putting the pouch back into his haversack, "There, a dozen galleons."

"Wait, did you just part with a dozen galleons on a bet?" asked Draco, his voice slightly shaky.

Harry shrugged, "Yeah, it's like what, two hundred and forty pounds? I think I spent more than that at the Leaky Cauldron last month."

Draco went paler than before, "Oh."

"Come now, Draco, you didn't think you were going to be the only one at Hogwarts with money, did you?" asked Harry.

When Draco said nothing, Susan chuckled, "You did, you honestly thought you'd be the only one there with money and influence. How, narrow minded of you. Sure, the Weasleys aren't the richest family, but if you'll notice, there are a lot more of them then there are Malfoys."

At that slight, Draco looked at Susan and spoke sharply, "And what does that have to do with anything?"

"Really, you haven't realized why, in a generation, the Weasleys will be more powerful than the Malfoys?" asked Harry. He then looked to Ron, "What do your older brothers do, Bill and Charlie?"

"Bill's a curse breaker for Gringotts," said Ron, "And Charlie works for a Dragon Reserve."

"Curse breaker and dragon handler, sure, not the most glamourous of jobs, certainly not as prestigious as the Wizengamot or the Hgowarts Board, but indicators of power none the less. Not that I have the highest opinion of your father," said Harry dismissively.

"What did you say about my father?" growled Draco.

"Nothing, really, yet. Thought, you do have to admit, it does take a certain, _je__ne__sais__quoi_, to admit, in front of everybody, that they are weak willed enough to be under the Imperious Curse for, what was it, years?" asked Harry dryly.

"Though, I could see Vinny and Greg's fathers doing it," pointed out Susan.

"Did you just insult my father?" asked Draco.

"I guess the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree if you have that much difficulty. How can I be insulting your father, when he admitted to such during his trial? He claimed the Imperius Curse, said that he was under the thrall of a half-blood for years and that he didn't really do what he did, because he didn't do it of his own free will," replied Harry.

"Half-blood?" asked Draco.

Susan giggled, while Harry and Ron chuckled. Neville, not getting the joke, looked on as his new friends seemingly insulted Draco with the truth.

"You don't know?" asked Harry. "You still believe that the so-called Dark Lord, the man who duped your father, and quite a number of purebloods, into supporting his power grab, was a half-blood orphan?"

"You dare insult the Dark Lord?" asked Draco.

"No, I speak the truth. His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was born to Merope Gaunt, last of the line of Slytherin, and her love potion ensorcelled husband, the muggle, Tom Riddle," explained Harry. "His _nom__de__guerre_ is an anogram of his name, Tom Marvolo Riddle turns into I am Lord Voldemort."

Draco looked stunned, as if everything he had known was false; up was down, black was white, and the pureblood lord he'd one day hoped to help regain his power was instead a lowly, in his opinion, half-blood with delusions of grandeur. He opened his mouth a few times, searching for the right comeback, failed, turned, and stormed out of the compartment, taking his "friends" with him.

Harry sat down and chuckled, joined by Ron and Susan. Eventually Neville joined in as well.

"Well, that didn't quite go as I had planned," sighed Harry once they got the laughter out of their system.

"What, exactly, was the plan?" asked Ron.

"I was going to reveal that we were cousins, invite him in for a quiet talk without the Bookends, and then slowly reveal to him that everything he knew was false, and that, one day, once Sirius passed on, I'd most likely inherit the Black holdings instead of him, since Sirius is in the process of formally adopting me, and not just being my godfather. I also planned on explaining that, in a generation, there would be over a dozen Weasleys to just a handful of Malfoys, and that, as time went on, the families that had more children would have more power, especially if another war broke out," explained Harry.

"Sounds rather Slytherin of you," said Susan. "Too bad it didn't work."

"I wanted him as an ally," said Harry with a sigh, "But, yet again, it seems that the universe is trying to keep us as enemies."

* * *

><p>Shortly before the Express' arrival in Hogsmede the four friends are joined by the Weasley Twins, who grin like hyaenas as they slide open the compartment door.<p>

"Hey guys," Harry greets them, "Come for your trunks?"

"Yep," says the one on the left, which by tradition Harry had labeled Forge, since he was the first of the pair to speak.

"But, are you," began the other Twin in their characteristic volley of communication.

"Four ready for."

"Your Sorting?"

Harry nodded as he pulled his shrunken trunk out of his haversack, "Yeah, and now, there will be no wrestling of trolls, though I am thinking of playing with the sorting hat a bit."

"You know," began Forge.

"It's not fair," continued Gred.

"That you already."

"Know how the sorting goes."

Harry shrugged and swiped the runes, expanding the trunk to fill most of the open space between the benches in the compartment. "Sorry guys," he says in apology to his new friends, "Have to get the trunks for the Twins."

"What is that?" asked Neville.

"It's my TARDIS," said Harry, as if it was obvious.

"What's a Tardis?"

"Trunk," began Gred this time.

"Appartment," continued Forge.

"Reasonably Desireable In Size," finished Harry with a glare at the Twins, "And really, he asked me the question, not you two. If you keep it up, you won't be getting your trunks back until after I've been sorted."

The Twins shrugged. "So, we'll be seeing you in the Tower after the Sorting Feast anyway," they said in unison.

"Ah, but what if I'm not in Gryffindor?" asked Harry.

"Where else," began Forge.

"Would you go?" finished Gred.

"He was being rather Slytherin earlier when dealing with Malfoy," offered Ron.

"A Snake?" asked Gred.

Forge continued, "Now, why'd you go."

"And do that for?"

Harry shrugged, "Eh, remember, I have to fight Tom eventually, I'm going to need as many allies as possible, and getting into Slytherin would help with that plan."

"Ambitious," noted Forge.

"Cunning even," confirmed Gred.

Harry chuckled, then swiped his finger along another line of runes, releasing the transmutation lock and opening the lid, revealing the steep steps down to the door of the TARDIS.

"I still think it should be blue," commented Ron.

"Blue?" asked Neville, confused.

"Muggle reference," noted Harry, as he climbed down the stairs and opened the door to his apartment. A few minutes later he shouted up, "If you two chuckleheads want your trunks, it might be best to come down here and get them."

"Excuse us," said Gred, climbing down the stairs into the expanded space of the trunk.

"We'll just be a moment," said Forge, following his brother.

After the Twins had followed Harry into the extra-dimensional space, Neville looked from Ron to Susan, "Are they always that crazy?"

"The Twins or Harry?" asked Ron.

"Both, um, all three of them," answered Neville.

Susan shrugged, "You have to remember, Harry has taken it upon himself to defeat Voldemort before he finishes his NEWTs."

"I thought he did that ten years ago," said Neville.

"Well, the first time, yeah," said Ron. "But, Tom's not dead, not really. Disembodied, sure, but not dead. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried something this year at Hogwarts."

"V-v-voldemort here?" stuttered Neville for the first time in hours.

"The Headmaster was warned, as was Aunty, so it shouldn't be a problem. We'll know during the Sorting if the Headmaster as heeded the warnings given to him," noted Susan.

"Warnings?" asked Neville.

"Ask Harry, it's not my story to tell," deflected Susan.

When Neville looked to him, Ron shook his head, "Not really mine either. Sure, I know more than Sue, but it's Harry's plan, not mine. Talk to him, he's your friend, but it is his story to tell, not ours. He's the Chosen One, I'm just the sidekick."

"Sidekick?" asked Neville.

"Muggle reference," noted Susan with a roll of her eyes.

Before Neville could ask more, the apartment door opened all the way and one of the Twins began backing his way up the stairs, followed by a trunk, another Twin, who was holding the end of the first trunk and the front of another, the second trunk, and finally, pausing briefly to close the door at the base of the stairs, Harry, who was mumbling under his breath as he helped the Twins with their luggage.

The luggage was quickly loaded onto the overhead shelfs above the benches in the compartment, Gred's next to Neville's and Forge's next to Ron's.

"Did you actually label your trunks as Gred and Forge?" asked Neville to the Twins as Harry closed the lid on his own trunk.

"What?" asked Forge, though Neville wasn't sure he was the same Forge from just minutes earlier.

"It's not like," continued Gred.

"We're different sizes," finished Forge.

Harry swiped the rune sequences in reverse, locking the transmutation lock and then shrinking the trunk back to it's nearly paperback size, before picking it up and stuffing it into the nearly bottomless hole that was his haversack.

"They were labeled as Fred and George," noted Harry, sitting down in his former seat next to Susan, while the Twins took the final pair of seats, opposite each other and closest to the compartment door. "But I convinced them that, if someone was actually paying attention, they'd be able to tell who was who by which trunk they used."

"We thought," began Gred.

"That is was an admirable," continued Forge.

"Contribution to Operation."

Forge tried to finish with, "Mindf–" but was interrupted.

"Language!" exclaimed Susan. As the only girl in the room she had taken it upon herself to enforce the matriarchal dictates of clean language.

"Frak," insisted Forge, "I was going to say Mindfrak."

"What's a frak?" asked Neville.

"Muggle reference," said the Twins in unison, before chuckling to themselves.

"If you," Gred began, standing.

"Don't mind us," said Forge, standing as well.

"We're almost there."

"And we don't want."

"To get lost in Firsties," finished Gred.

"Toodles," said Harry with a wave.

**"We ****will ****be ****reaching ****Hogwarts ****in ****five ****minutes ****time,"** echoed a voice throughout the train. **"Please ****leave ****your ****luggage ****on ****the ****train, ****it ****will ****be ****taken ****to ****the ****school ****separately."**

"You leaving your trunk?" asked Ron, looking to Susan.

"Only if Harry leaves his," replied Susan.

"Not on my life," replied Harry, covetously clutching his haversack. "If I had my way, I'll not let my haversack, or my trunk, leave my sight until Tom and his Death Munchers are defeated."

"Death Muncher?" asked Neville.

"Muggle Reference," said Harry, Ron, and Susan in unison.

* * *

><p>The arrival at Hogsmede Station, the collection by Hagrid, and the trip across Black Lake are as expected, though the view of Hogwarts wasn't quite what Ron or Harry had expected from their experiences with both the books and movies. The castle itself looked to be an eclectic amalgam of architectural styles. The two time travelers could find influences from as far back as Roman times, with some Alban and Norman influences, though the bulk of the castle was in the Gothic style. While it contained the same pieces, the gestalt was completely different from the construction popularized in their former world by the eight movies.<p>

As expected, Hagrid led the small flotilla through a vine hidden cave into small underground harbor, and then led the two score first year witches and wizards up the long staircase into the entrance courtyard, before knocking on the large oak doors of Hogwarts.

The doors swung open, and out stepped the tall severe figure of the Deputy Headmistress.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you Hagrid, I'll take them from here," she said in her iconic brogue.

She pulled the doors wide, and lead the astonished first years through the cavernous entrance hall and into the small side room that was predominately used as a holding area for unsorted students. They crowded together in the small room and Harry wondered what would happen in the future when the population recovered from the wars and the student contribution was more than forty new students.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall declared. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses." She then began a word-for-word recitation of the new student lecture, speaking of how the Houses would be like family to the students, and how their collective success and failure would effect the outcome of the House Cup. "At the end of the year," explained McGonagall, "The House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor."

Harry interrupted her speech by stifling a laugh.

"Is there a problem?" asked McGongall, deviating from her previous recitation.

"Uh, no, no there isn't Deputy Headmistress," said Harry, trying to recover from his outburst.

"I see," she said sternly, making Harry blanch. "The sorting will begin shortly, so I suggest you all smarten yourselves up, and no more outbursts, or you'll be the first to lose points before you're even sorted." She looked over the assembled students, her gaze lingering on Harry, still wearing his baseball cap, before commanding, "Lose the cap, or you will lose points."

Harry blanched, again, quickly taking off his Red Sox cap, which allowed his hair to quickly escape the bounds of the gel and hairspray and become the iconic Potter birds nest, although nearly two inches longer than it had been just a month previous, and consequently slightly more controlled.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," McGongall said, turning to the only other door in the room, "Please wait quietly." She then passed through the door, the room erupting into murmurs as soon as it closed.

Harry blushed as he unslung his haversack and stuffed his baseball cap into the main pocket, "I am so embarrassed."

Ron chuckled, "Okay, different from what I expected, but still, I think an auspicious beginning to our education."

"I can't believe you forgot to take off your hat," said Susan, her face in her palm.

"What, I've been wearing it constantly since I got it. Its the only thing that can keep my hair from being this wild tangle," Harry said, running his hands through the same.

"Is it longer?" asked Ron.

"A bit," said Harry.

"Mate, it's nearly long enough to tie back," said Ron.

"It almost looks as long as what you had, you know, _before_," said Susan, remembering her vision of the overweight, and long-haired, Richard Martin in Harry's memory of his travel through time.

"Before?" asked Neville, "I thought you didn't know each other until you met after Pettigrew's trial?"

"We didn't," said Harry, "But I showed Susan what I looked like before I came to Britain. I had longer hair then, tied back into a ponytail. Seems that my hair is trying to get back to that length sooner rather than later."

"Ain't magic grand?" asked Ron.

"Wonderful," Harry deadpanned. It wasn't that he didn't like having long hair, it made things so much easier in his former life, and once it grew long enough to tie back in this life he'd be much happier as well, but it was another aspect of the world that had snuck up on him. Not the first, and most assuredly, not the last.

Just then the ghosts decided to make their entrance.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance," said the ghost of the Fat Friar.

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?" asked the other ghost, who Harry couldn't immediately place. "He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?"

"First years," declared Harry, "Waiting to be sorted."

"Ah, a spirited lad," chuckled the Fat Friar. "I hope you'll be in Hufflepuff, it's my old House you know."

"Move along now," declared the recognizable voice of the Deputy Headmistress. "The Sorting Ceremony in about to start." Once the ghosts made their exit out into the Great Hall, she turned her gaze back to the new students, "Now, form a line, and follow me. No dawdling."

The line was thus formed, though, less of a line, and more of an elongated group, nearly four abreast as Harry, Neville, Susan, and Ron made their way out of the antechamber and into the Great Hall proper.

As they walked up to the front of the hall, Harry quickly counted the students, and estimated that, although their incoming class was the smallest of the seven currently attending, it was only about two thirds the average, at least based on the sampling of Lions and Badgers he'd counted. After counting the students, Harry looked across the teachers and winced when he sighted the turbaned, and possessed, Defense Against the Dark Art professor.

"What's wrong?" asked Neville in a whisper as Harry's flinch.

"Tom?" asked Ron, glancing up at Quirrell.

Harry nodded.

"Shall I write Aunty?" asked Susan.

Harry nodded again, "Yeah, I'll as well once I talk with the Headmaster.

As the quartet talked about the possessed teacher, McGonagall pulled out the four-legged stool and the Sorting Hat, which promptly broke into song.

While Harry wasn't sure, he guessed that, since the changes weren't that large between the end of July and the start of September, the Hat had sung the same song as in canon, possibly the last or next to last such occurrence before the butterfly wings flapped them all away (not that he knew what the song would be next year anyway, since Rowling had seen fit to not write one for her second book).

* * *

><p>"When I call out your name," said McGonagall, holding a long coil of parchment, "You will sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted." She looked down at the list, then said loudly, "Abbot, Hannah."<p>

A pink-faced girl with blonde pig-tails stumbled out of line, glanced at Susan, who gave her a smile, and then strode up to the stool. After putting the Hat on her hear, and after a moment's pause, the Hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Bones, Susan," called McGonagall.

"Wish me luck," Susan said softly as she walked away from her new friends to be sorted.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" declared the Sorting Hat.

"So, what House do you think you'll be in?" Harry asked, looking first to Neville, but also to Ron.

Boot, Terry."

"Probably Gyrffindor, that's where mum and dad were," said Neville.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Ron?" asked Harry.

"Well, all the Weasleys are in Gryffindor," he said cautiously.

"Brocklehurst, Amanda."

"Ron, you know you're not a normal Weasley," said Harry.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Ron shrugged, "I don't know, never really thought about it."

"Brown, Lavender."

"Come on Ron, I know you've thought about it," countered Harry.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Well, I always wondered what went on in Slytherin," said Ron.

"Bulstrode, Millicent."

"I'm surprised Percy wasn't a Snake myself," opined Harry.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"I guess he was too cowed to break with tradition, which is funny, really," chuckled Ron.

"Corner, Michael."

"Why is it funny?" asked Neville.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Isn't traditionalism a trait of Slytherin?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"Cornfoot, Stephen."

"Along with Cunning, Resourcefulness, Ambition, and the Pursuit of Power, yeah," said Neville.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Well, I wouldn't say that those are the traits that modern Slytherin's espouse," Ron pointed out.

"Crabbe, Vincent."

"Speaking of which," chuckled Harry.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"How'd you know that?" asked Neville.

"Davis, Tracey."

"Well, aside from the fact that his family is Slytherin way back?" Another rhetorical questions from Harry.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Okay, but he didn't seem that ambitious or cunning on the train," Neville said.

"Edgecombe, Marietta."

"Ah, but he has hitched his wagon, so to speak, to Malfoy, hasn't he?" Ron asked.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Huh, not many Lions so far, though lots of Eagles and Snakes," Harry pointed out, dropping the earlier conversation thread.

"Entwhistle, Kevin."

"So they'll be represented heavier at the bottom of the alphabet," Ron pointed out.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"That's six Eagles in the first twelve," noted Harry.

"Finch-Fletchley."

"And three Snakes, two Badgers, and a Lion," Ron continued the census.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"One in thirteen is pretty slim, even with less than a third sorted," noted Neville.

"Finnigan, Seamus."

"Ah, well, make that two in fourteen," said Harry with a smile.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"That's twice now you've predicted, and I'm pretty sure he's at best a half-blood, if not muggleborn," noted Neville.

"Goldstein, Anthony."

"Well, it's sort of how he knew about the Sorting Hat," Ron pointed out.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"How exactly did you know about that?" asked Neville pointedly.

"Granger, Hermione."

"Ah frak, I knew I was forgetting someone," Harry cursed.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"What, okay, this is getting creepy, how do you know all this? How did you know about Riddle?" asked Neville, getting angrier with Harry.

"Greengrass, Daphne."

"Nev, it's a long story, and while I do intend to tell you, before we get sorted is not the best time," Harry said, trying to mollify his new friend's concerns.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Alright, but there will be a reckoning Harry, and you will give me answers," sneered Neville, his stutter all but forgotten in his emotion.

"Goyle, Gregory."

"Ah, another Snake joins the… Harry, what's the multiple noun for snakes?" asked Ron.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Clutch? Den? Who knows?" asked Harry in response.

"Hopkins, Wayne."

"I think den is for badgers," offered Neville.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Flock for the eagles," said Harry.

"Jones, Megan."

"And pride fro lions," said Ron.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"That would have been funnier if she had gone to Ravenclaw," said Harry with a chuckle.

"Longbottom, Neville."

"Good luck Nev," said Ron and Harry at nearly the same time.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"So, you want to keep do this?" asked Ron.

"Li, Su."

"Doing what?" asked Harry.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"MSTing," said Ron.

"MacDougal, Morag."

"Eh, terrible name, Morag. What kind of name is Morag?" asked Harry, ignoring Ron's question.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"It's Scottish," noted Ron. "I think," he quickly added.

"Macmillan, Ernie."

"So, as I was saying, are we going to keep doing this?" Ron asked again.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"I'm just surprised you know what MSTing is," noted Harry.

"Malfoy, Draco."

"What, because I'm British?" asked Ron.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"No, because you were a school teacher," countered Harry.

"Malone, Roger."

"What, I'm like, four months older than you, if you can know about MSTing, so can I," countered Ron.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Okay, so, I admit, some of the teachers I hung out with were cool enough to know about Mystery Science Theatre," admitted Harry.

"Moon, Lily."

"Always wondered about her," said Ron, leaving another conversation thread to die.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"By always, you meant since Rowling published her class list, right?" asked Harry.

"Nott, Theodore."

"Well, yeah, but still, she came up with so many names, but only covered, like, half of them in the books."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"And that's if she kept them consistent," added Harry to Ron's comment.

"Parkinson, Pansy."

"I think she's the second to last Slytherin," said Ron, another conversation thread dropped unceremoniously.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"I wouldn't go quite the far, and you never answered my question," said Harry.

"Patil, Padma."

"Which was?"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Which House do you think you'll be in?" repeated Harry.

"Patil, Parvati."

"Well, now that Nev's not here, I can tell you. Pottermore put me in Ravenclaw," answered Ron.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Wait, you got into Pottermore?" asked Harry, surprised. "I tried, but didn't get in the beta."

"Perks, Sally-Anne."

"Get ready Harry," said Ron, ignoring the questions of Pottermore for something a bit more immediate.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Why?" asked Harry, not really paying attention.

"Potter, Harry."

"Oh shit," mumbled Harry, as suddenly, everybody was looking at him.

* * *

><p>"<em>Potter<em>, did she say?" came in question from the Ravenclaw table.

"_The_ Harry Potter?" asked a Hufflepuff.

Harry stepped forward, then resolutely over to McGonagall and the waiting Sorting Hat. Just before the Hat's brim came down over his eyes, he gave a wave to the half of the student population that was gawking at him.

"Interesting," came the voice inside his head that could only be the Sorting Hat.

"Define 'interesting'," requested Harry.

"Well, were you looking for the Chinese or the Whedon definition?" the Hat asked in return.

"While I'm resigned to my death for the eventual defeat of Tom," admitted Harry, "I'm assuming you were referring to my temporally displaced nature."

"You are the second student I've sorted today that knows more about the future than they ought to, but you're the only one I haven't sorted before," explained the Hat. "And quite the fascinating mind you have Harry, or should I call you Richard?"

"As I told Amelia, _je__m'appelle_ Harry Potter," thought Harry. "And you said there was another?"

"There is another," said the Hat in a bad impersonation of Harry's memory of Yoda.

"Yeah, thanks," thought Harry with a roll of his eyes. "So, any hints?"

"She was sorted before you, that is all I am allowed to say," came the reply from the ancient magical artifact.

"Thanks, that's actually a lot of information," thought Harry with a smile on his face, a smile which would confuse a quarter of the population of Hogwarts for nearly two weeks.

"So, which House?" ruminated the Hat. "Courage to die so that others may live. A dedication to Hard Work in pursuit of that goal. A Creative mind that seeks unconventional solutions. But, above all, a Cunning and Ambitious plan to defeat a Dark Lord."

"I perfectly cromulent assessment," thought Harry.

"There's that Ravenclaw Wit though," chuckled the Hat.

"I think the students are getting restless," mentioned Harry.

"Ah," admitted the Hat, "So they are. Indeed, there really is no other option, especially with that horcrux in your forehead giving you a bit of the power of the Heir, so, you Harry, are destined for SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

><p>Harry heard the last word, as he had expected, with both his mind and his ears. He stood, swept the Hat off his head, handing it to a slightly stunned McGonagall, and made his way towards the table of equally stunned Snakes. He smiled to Professors Snape and Dumbledore as he passed, and glared at the Riddle possessed Quirrell.<p>

"Roper, Sophie," croaked McGonagall, finally continuing the Sorting.

He found an empty seat next between Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, and sat down just as the girl after him was sorted.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Okay Potter," began Daphne to his right, "What exactly did you do to get sorted into Slytherin?"

"Smith, Sally," continued McGonagall.

"Yeah Potter, from what Malfoy was saying, you were practically already a Gryff on the Express," commented Theodore from his left.

"The name is Harry, not Potter," he said softly, still paying attention to the Sorting.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Okay, I think that's the last of the unknowns," Harry said to nobody in particular.

"Last of the unknowns?" asked Daphne, "What are you prattling on about?"

"Smith, Zacharias."

"Do you think they're related?" asked Harry, "Sally and Zacharias that is."

"Don't know, but I hear the Smiths are related to Hufflepuff, so I doubt it," replied Theo.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Maybe they're just like the Patils," commented Harry. "Only four left, and I think it'll be two Eagles, a Lion, and Snake."

"Thomas, Dean."

"Seems to make things a bit uneven, don't you think?" asked Daphne.

"Yeah, Ravenclaw's already got ten students," added Theo.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Ah, there you go Potter, that'll be two Lions, not one," said Daphne confidently.

"Ten Galleons says Weasley doesn't end up in Gryffindor," offered Harry.

"Turpin, Lisa."

"A fool an his money are soon parted, Potter," said Theo. "I'll take your bet."

Daphne looked from Harry to Ron, then shook her head, "No deal, too easy, something's fishy."

"RAVENCLAW!"

Harry quickly shook hands with Theo, then put ten of the small gold coins on the table with his other hand, "Ten galleons."

Theo blanched, "I'm good for it."

"Weasley, Ronald."

"You sure about this?" asked Daphne.

"You asking me or him?" asked Harry.

"Either," Daphne quickly replied as the Hat took its time sorting Ron.

"Yep," said both Theo and Harry just before Ron was sorted.

"RAVENCLAW!"

If Harry getting sorted into Slytherin caused surprise, then the first Weasley in generations to be sorted outside of Gryffindor nearly caused a riot. Harry was focused on the three Weasleys at the Gryffindor table as Ron made his way down to sit with the Eagles. Percy looked like Ron had betrayed him, while the Twins looked like they had just realized that they'd been witness to one of the greatest pranks in recent history.

"Okay," said Theo, breaking Harry's concentration, "I'll get you the gold once were in the dormitory."

"How'd you know he wasn't going to be in Gryffindor?" asked Daphne.

"Zabini, Blaise," said McGonagall, reading the last name off his parchment scroll.

"He told me," admitted Harry.

"Wait, you knew he wasn't going to be a Lion?" asked Theo.

"Well yeah, wasn't going to bet ten galleons on something that wasn't a sure bet, now would I?" admitted Harry with a sly grin. "Wouldn't be very cunning of me, now would it?"

"SLYTHERIN!"

As the dark-skinned eleven year old joined the Slytherin table, McGonagall, still in a slight daze from the one-two punch of Harry and Ron's surprise sortings, picked up stool and Hat, and walked from the front of the Great Hall.

The Headmaster slowly rose to his feet, allowing the murmurs to die away as he took in all the attention, "Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words."

"Nitwit, blubber, oddment, and tweak," Harry said softly during Dumbledore's pregnant pause.

"And here they are," continued Dumbledore with a smile. "Nitwit!" which surprised Daphne. "Blubber!" which got Theo's attention. "Oddment!" which got the attention of Blaise, who was sitting in the formerly empty seat opposite Harry. "Tweak!" which got all three of Harry's nearby housemates staring at him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's<strong>**Note:** Yes, this is going to be a Slytherin!Harry story, but no in the traditional sense, since it's mainly a United!Hogwarts story with a touch of Manipulative!Dumbledore. And, we have our first clue as to who the secondary antagonist (the prime antagonist is, as ever, Tom) is, since they were sorted before Harry, mind you, that's over thirty possible witches or wizards, but hey, what's life without a little mystery?

**Recommendation:** This week's recommendation, as I alluded to last week, is, in my humble opinion, the definitive Slytherin!Harry tale, _They__Shook__Hands_ by **Dethryl**. So far four stories have been posted (FF(dot) net IDs of 6378694, 6382715, 6417928, and 6453693). This story will probably be the largest influence on how I portray Slytherin house in this fic, and I heartily recommend all four books posted so far.

_Published December 2, 2011_


	9. Chapter 8

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Chapter 8**

"Okay, how did you do that?" Blaise demanded to know.

"Are you a Seer?" asked Daphne, a touch of awe in her voice.

Harry shook his head, "No, nothing like that." He would have continued, but he noticed something odd. Well, not exactly odd, but it was unexpected. Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting a few people on the other side of Daphne, next to Draco, was staring right at him.

"What's wrong?" asked Theo, looking at Harry, and then down at Pansy.

Harry shook his head, "Nothing, but, like I saw saying, I'm not a seer or anything. I just, well, get a hunch sometimes about things."

"A hunch is knowing when not to ask for extra galleons from your parents," said Blaise. "What you did, predicting the Headmaster's words, that wasn't a hunch."

Harry shrugged, then told the truth in such an unconvincing way that it was thought another lie, "I read it in a book somewhere, I guess."

The three Slytherins around him scoffed, "Really, read it in a book?"

Harry rolled his eyes, and gestured at the food that the four of them had been ignoring for their discussion, "Why don't we eat, and then you'll forget about this little bit of prescience, and everything will go back to normal, oaky?"

"This isn't over Potter," said Daphne with a growl before scooping a small helping of mashed potatoes onto her plate.

Harry scowled as he looked over the food, "Fried, fried, covered in butter, fried, food of the gods, bland, bland and fried." He turned to look at his friends' plates, which were being slowly filled with various meats, starches, starchy vegetables, and fried foods. "Well, aside from the bacon, which, as I said, is the food of the gods, I'm not entirely sure of the food."

"What?" asked Blaise, looking down at his lamb chop, boiled potatoes, corn and carrots, and pudding. "What's wrong with the food?"

"Well, aside from being mostly fried and quite bland?" asked Harry.

"Potter, most of this looks baked, not fried," noted Daphne.

"Okay, so it's roasts as well as fried, but, where's the flavor?" asked Harry. He took a bit of the mashed potatoes onto his plate and tasted it with his fork. "Where's the garlic? How can you have mashed potatoes without garlic?"

"Actually, that sounds pretty good," said Theo between bites of sausage.

"Plus, I grew up in America, I'm used to pizza, and burritos, and pasta. What I wouldn't give for a nice _carne asada_ burrito with rice, and black beans, and _pico de gallo_, and a heaping of guacamole." He shivered a bit remembering one of his favorite fast food meals.

Daphne shook her head, "You're weird Potter, you know that? What is the world is a burrito?"

Harry looked flabbergasted at Daphne's question. He then looked to Blaise and Theo, who likewise looked confused at his mention of the mexican flatbread delicacy. "Let me guess, you're all purebloods, right?"

They all nodded that he asked an obvious question.

"Okay, so, like I said, I was raised in America, hence my accent, or lack thereof," explained Harry. "And, I wasn't raised in a magical household." At that his companions looked surprised.

"The Boy Who Lived was raised as a muggle?" asked Daphne, shocked.

"Heck, until I came to London on my birthday, I didn't even know my name was Harry Potter," said Harry, telling a truth, if not the whole truth.

"What did you think it was?" asked Theo.

Harry chuckled, not exactly expecting that question, "Richard." He then scooped a full helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

"I thought you didn't want any?" asked Blaise.

"No, I just was looking for something a bit less rich and a bit more spicy. I'm not going to turn down food. haven't had anything to eat except sweets on the train since breakfast," replied Harry, selecting some of the bacon and sausages, heavy on the bacon and light on the sausage, as well as some of the vegetables. "Though, a nice soup and salad wouldn't go amiss either," he added with a chuckle before digging in. "Really wish I could've found some Sirracha too," he mumbled, lamenting the loss of his Thai chili sauce.

* * *

><p>The rest of the feast proceeded without any more problems, though it seemed that the two unlikely occurrences of a Weasley in Ravenclaw and the Boy-Who-Lived in Slytherin dominated the evening's conversation. Once dessert was cleared away, Harry had enjoyed a slice of pumpkin pie, the Headmaster stood once more, silencing the murmurs of conversation.<p>

"Ahem," Dumbledore cleared his throat, taking a sip from a rather ornate goblet, "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

"Any predictions?" asked Blaise in a hushed tone.

Harry shook his head, he hadn't been thinking clearly with his earlier escapades, and he hoped that he'd be able to discount his rather prophetic statements as happenstance.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

This elicited a few isolated chuckles, mainly from the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

"Does that mean that magic during classes in the corridors, or between classes in classrooms is fine?" asked Harry, unable to completely stop himself from being snarky. He was still upset that Dumbledore had dismissed his warnings about Quirrel, or so it seemed.

His new friends just rolled their eyes as the Headmaster continued, "Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch."

"Too bad first years can't get on the teams," commented Theo, "I'd love to at least try out for Chaser."

"I think that you'll find that, if you're good enough, allowances could be made," noted Harry. "Mind, you'd have to be better than everyone else, but yeah, if you're good enough."

"So next year then, eh?" Theo replied with a smile.

"And finally," Dumbledore said with a sigh, looking almost directly at Harry with a Twinkle in his eye, though Harry quickly looked away in case of Legilimency. "I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does no wish to die a very painful death."

Harry noticed that the Headmaster's statement did elicit more murmurs and comments that just from him and his new friends.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" said Dumbledore with a bright smile. Harry chuckled to himself as he noticed his new Head-of-House's rather forced smile.

The Headmaster, with a flick of his wand, which Harry had assumed was the Elder Wand, conjured a long golden ribbon that floated up into the air to form the words of the song, "Everyone pick their favorite tune," he instructed, "And off we go!"

* * *

><p>After the song, which Harry decided to sing as close as he could to Amazing Grace, though the cadence wasn't quite right, the students were dismissed. The first years were held back by the fifth year prefects while the rest of the older students quickly filed out of the Great Hall.<p>

Of the two Slytherin prefects that remained, the girl, who's brown hair was pulled into a conservative bun, was the one to speak, "Welcome to Slytherin. My name is Gemma, and I'll be one of your fifth year prefects, along with Mervyn here," she gestured to the other prefect, a tall boy with short cropped blond hair. "If you'll follow me, I'll guide you down through the dungeons to our Common Room, and from there to your dorms."

Gemma then lead the ten first year students out of the Great Hall, splitting off from the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws quite quickly, though paralleling the Hufflepuffs for a while before they too went their own way and they were alone in the corridors. "Now, unlike the Eagles or Lions, we don't have to worry about the stairs moving on us or anything else like that, and unlike the Badgers, we don't have to worry about late night visitors to the kitchens stumbling across our entrance."

She stopped in front of a blank wall and then said with confidence, "Monkshood." At the password the wall opened, revealing a space beyond, which Gemma then lead the eleven year olds into.

"As you can see, this is the Slytherin Common Room," she said with a gesture. As expected, the decor was predominately dark greens and blacks, with silver accents. She pointed at a cork board near the entrance, "Over there is the noticeboard. Every fortnight the password changes, and is posted over there. Don't give it to anyone else, and don't forget it. Monkshood is the current password and will be active until the morning of the fifteenth. As you can see, we're the last the arrive, and everyone else has gone down to their rooms."

She pointed down two hallways that were lit from green lights, possibly windows into the lake above, "Down there are the girls dormitories, and down there are the boys dormitories. Since you are all firsties, you've got the last rooms on the corridor." She then picked up a sheaf of parchments from a low table, "These are your schedules for this year." She glanced down at them, smiled, and then looked back to the expectant first years before her, "You're lucky, you've got Defense bright and early tomorrow morning with the 'Puffs and then an off period before lunch. If Professor Quirrel gives you work, I recommend you do it then, rather than putting it off until the evening, since you've got Charms followed by History tomorrow afternoon."

"Before I send you off to bed, I'd like to tell you two important things," said Gemma after handing each student their schedule. "First, outside of these rooms we are united. It doesn't matter if you don't like your fellow Slytherin or not, you are to put up a united front. Out there it's us against them, and there are three of them for each of you, so we stand united. Second, if you have any problems, come to one of us prefects," she gestured to the green and silver badge pinned to her robes, "we're here to help you, but remember, Slytheirn is the house of the ambitious and resourceful, and so, if you do come to us, we'll expect that you've done your best to solve your own problems."

With that, she guided the girls down their corridor, while Mervyn, still silent, guided the boys down theirs. "Here you go," he said, finally saying something, "breakfast starts a seven and goes to eight, while your first class starts at eight thirty. Gemma and I'll be escorting you to your classes this first week, and we'll be meeting outside the Great Hall at eight to do so." He then opens the door, revealing the five beds, the expected four-posters with dark green hangings, and light provided with the dim green glow of the lake above, "Here you go, oh, and Potter, hang back a bit, will you?"

Harry shrugged when Blaise sent him an inquisitive look, but they said nothing as the four other first year Slytherin boys went into their dorm room, leaving Harry out in the hall with Mervyn.

* * *

><p>"Okay, so, what's this about?" asked Harry as the door closed behind the last of the first years.<p>

"Where's your trunk?" asked Mervyn.

Harry stifled a chuckle, "My trunk?"

"Yes, it wasn't on the train," stated Mervyn.

Harry shook his head, "Yeah, that's because I didn't leave it on the train."

"So, where is it?"

Harry shrugged, and unslung his haversack, before reaching in and removing the shrunken form of his TARDIS. "Here," he said, slinging his haversack on one shoulder while presenting the small wooden box to the prefect, "my trunk."

Mervyn looked from the shrunken trunk to Harry and back, "Okay, you're not the first person to have a shrinking trunk, though I think you're the first firstie I've heard about that had one."

Harry shrugged, "I don't want anyone to get into my things."

"Paranoid?" asked Mervyn.

Harry glared at the prefect, "Mervyn, you know what they call me, right?"

"The Boy-Who-Lived," said Mervyn hesitantly. He wasn't sure where the younger student was going with his line of questioning.

"So, you know that, at one point in time, Voldemort," he paused as Mervyn shuddered, "It is just a name, and for God's sake, it's not even his real name. It's a bloody anagram."

"What?" asked Mervyn, confused.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Harry. "That's what the man was born as, but when you rearrange the letters it spells I am Lord Voldemort. But, I digress, so, as I was saying, Tom, he came to my home when I was fifteen months old, killed my parents, and tired to kill me. Someone tried to kill me when I was fifteen months old. So sue me if I'm a bit paranoid."

"Okay," said Mervyn, putting up his hands defensively, "Okay, no need to get irate. It's just, well, you're supposed to leave your trunk on the train."

"Am I in trouble?" asked Harry.

Mervyn shook his head, "No, not in trouble, but, in the future, you might just want to leave at least some sort of luggage on the train. Even if it's empty, and your real trunk is with you, leave a trunk for the elves. They got worried when they couldn't find your trunk."

"Ah, sorry," said Harry.

"Not a problem," said Mervyn. "You're a Slytherin now, you've got to think your plans through a little more now."

Harry smirked, "Gotcha, well, anything else?"

Mervyn shook his head, "No, nothing else. Have a good night Harry."

Harry nodded, "You as well Mervyn." He turned, but stopped, "Mervyn, who should I talk to or what should I do if I need to talk to Professor Snape?"

"Professor Snape?" asked Mervyn. He thought for a moment, "I'll leave him a note, but he usually takes the time to talk to each of the new Slytherin their first week. He's got a busy schedule, so it's normally at night, after classes are done for the day."

Harry nodded, "Thank you Mervyn. I'll see you in the morning?"

Mervyn nodded, "Yeah, like Gemma said, we'll be escorting you to your classes this week, and your Defense Against the Darks Arts class is first thing in the morning, so be ready at eight o'clock."

"Outside the Great Hall," acknowledged Harry. "See you there Mervyn."

"'Night Harry."

Harry nodded, having already wished the prefect a good night earlier in the conversation, turned, and finally entered the dorm room he shared with the other first year Slytherin boys.

"What'd he want?" asked Blaise, sitting on the edge of the second bed from the door. Harry looked and saw that Draco had taken the last bed, then Crabbe and Goyle had the next to, then Theo, Blaise, and the empty bed for him. Not that he planned on actually using it, but it was nice to have it anyway.

Harry gestured at Blaise with his shrunken trunk, still in hand, "I didn't leave my trunk on the train. The elves were concerned, and so Mervyn was concerned. He recommend that, if I didn't trunk my belongings on the Express that I get an empty trunk so that at least the elves can move that for me."

"Ah," said Blaise. "So, ready for bed?"

Harry shrugged, "Ready enough."

Blaise turned and pointed to another door at the end of the room, near Draco's bed, "Through there is the bathroom."

Harry nodded, "Thanks, but I don't think I'll be needing that."

Blaise looked concerned, "Really?"

Harry smirked, "Well, this isn't just a trunk." He kneeled down and set his shrunken TARDIS at the foot of the empty bed. He then swiped across the runes that enlarged the trunk while taking a step back, "This is my TARDIS."

"Tar diss?" asked Blaise.

"Trunk Apartment, Reasonably Decent In Size," said Harry. "It's an acronym, well, a backronym really, but still, it's where I've been living for the past couple of weeks."

"Living?" asked Blaise, glancing over at the trunk, which wasn't much different in size from his own, which was full of books, clothes, and supplies.

"It's bigger on the inside," Harry said with a smirk, "Though usually I like people to come to that realization without pointing it out. Sort of a joke between me, myself, and I."

"Joke?"

"It's a reference to a TV show," said Harry. When he saw that Blaise was confused, he asked, "Let me guess, you don't know what a TV is, or why it would have shows?"

Blaise nodded.

"Okay, so, most important thing you have to remember when dealing with me is that I was raised in a completely different culture than you."

"You're American, right?"

"Well, yeah, I was raised in America, but that's only part of the difference. I was raised muggle, like I told you at the feast."

"Yeah," confirmed Blaise.

"Well, the muggles, they have this thing called television, and it is exactly what it sounds like, seeing things at a distance. It's a bit like the wireless, but with moving pictures in addition to the sound. A TV, that's the acronym for television, show is like a play preformed for people watching their TVs. One of the oldest shows is a children's show called Doctor Who. It's really complicated to describe, but one of the larger elements of the show is that the Doctor travels through time and space in a blue box that's bigger on the inside. The trick is that muggles can't make things bigger on the inside, that requires magic, or at least, something indistinguishable thereof. So, when the Doctor takes people inside his box, the muggles, they're surprised that it's bigger on the inside."

"Ah," said Blaise.

"Like I said, it's hard to explain. I'll see if I can't get a book or something from the muggles that'll explain it better," said Harry, admitting that his explanation was a bit hard to follow. "But, suffice it to say, my TARDIS, my trunk, is where I've been living, and even though I'm here at Hogwarts, it is still where I intend to live."

"So, not going to even try to sleep on your bed?" asked Blaise before falling back onto his own bed. "It is pretty comfortable."

Harry shook his head, "Not right now at least. Maybe if I have a really bad day and I don't want to get out my trunk, but right now, yeah, I'm going to bed." With that, and a swipe of his finger across the specific runes, the top opened, revealing the stairs down into the apartment.

"Good night Blaise," said Harry, stepping over the edge of his trunk and onto the first step of the stairs.

"Good night Harry," echoed Blaise.

"'Night Harry," said the voice from the middle bed.

"Have a good night Theo," Harry said with a smile. He then looked to the far end of the dorm room, "You too Greg, Vinny, Draco. Have a good night. I'll see y'all in the morning."

Just before Harry closed the inner door to his trunk apartment he heard a voice, possibly Draco but he wasn't sure, ask, "Y'all?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Okay, so, I took a week off, and I didn't quite write as much in those two weeks (or a month of you're counting from the last posting of this story) as I wanted to. I've been distracted. Retail during the holiday season isn't the easiest thing in the world, and I'm easily distracted. Also, I'm getting close to my divergence point (when Richard went back in time to become Harry), so I'm going to have to be careful going forward not to have his reference things that haven't been published yet (though, I've got a month and a half before that happens).

**Recommendation:** Well, a nice story I've found recently is _Shards of Time: The Master of Death_ (FF (dot) net ID#5231770) which is an interesting take on the Time Travel genre by **Shitsumeishi**. It involves a Harry that travels back to his ten year old body after getting killed by Tom at the Battle of Hogwarts in _Deathly Hallows_, and finds out that, not only does he remember the events of the next seven years, but he's also considered an adult magically and thus Heir of the Potter, Black (via Sirius' will) and Peverell lines, and thus has three seats on the Wizengamut. A bit AU, but then, what Time Travel store isn't.

_Published January 7, 2012_


	10. Chapter 9

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Chapter 9**

"…make your own kind of music, sing your own special song," sang Harry to himself as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. "Make your own kind of music, even if nobody else sings along."

He then heard a knocking, interrupting his singing.

"I knew I shouldn't have gone for the _Lost_ reference," said Harry to himself as he walked out of his bedroom, grabbing his robe and haversack along the way.

The knocking continued.

"I'm coming!" he shouted as he pulled on the robe. He paused, one arm in the robe, haversack over the other shoulder, as he passed the TARDIS' kitchen, remembering he'd made coffee before taking his shower. He was just about to pop in to make his cup with, once again, someone was knocking on the door to his apartment.

"As I lie there there, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door," mis-quoted Harry as he tore himself away from the promise of coffee and went to the door to the stairs to the TARDIS.

He opened it, and upon seeing the greasy haired potions professor, and Head of Slytherin, he concluded, " 'Tis just Professor Snape, and nothing more."

"Potter?" asked Professor Snape, his tone a combination of confusion and aggravation.

"Sorry, was having a Poe moment for a while there. What can I help you with this morning, Professor? The Prefect, Mervyn was it, said that you'd get around to talking to me sometime during the week. Didn't think you'd come down and see me so soon," said Harry.

Snape shook his head as if to clear it, "No, Potter, that is not why I came. I was wondering why you felt you needed to stay in this trunk of yours, rather than in your bed like everyone else? Are you such a pampered prince that you think you're too good for the rest of your fellow Slytherins?"

Harry looked shocked for a moment, "Oh, no, not that Professor. It's just, well, I've already gotten used to the bed in here, and since I didn't want to take another week to get used to the bed out there, I thought…" Harry stopped as he realized that Professor Snape was confused. "Is there a problem Professor?"

"You sound like an American," stated Snape.

"Well yes, I was raised there," said Harry. "I've only been in the country since my birthday. Stayed at the Leaky Cauldron until my trunk was finished, and then I've been living in here since. Only a couple weeks, but it's been nice to have a place to call my own, since I can't return to America anytime soon."

"What are you talking about Potter?" asked the Professor.

Harry bit his lip, "Why don't you step into my parlor?" He stepped back, pulling the door all the way open and gesturing down the entrance hall to the living room.

"As arrogant as your father," mumbled Professor Snape as he walked past Harry and into the TARDIS proper.

"I wouldn't say that, Professor Snape," said Harry, closing the door and following the dour man. He thought of how the movies had shaped his perception of the professor, of how, even after seeing the professor during the feast, he still hadn't connected in his mind that Snape wasn't that much older than he used to be.

"And why is that, Mr. Potter?" asked Snape.

"Well, for one thing, I know very little of James Potter, only what I've read in books. Even less, really, of Lily Evans," said Harry, making a calculated point to refer to his new parents by their names, and especially Lily by her maiden name. "I know, though, that you were tormented by James during your time in school. You were in the same year if I remember correctly. I also know that you knew Lily from before you both attended Hogwarts, and that the two of you were friends until an incident late in your schooling forced you apart."

Harry had watched the hint of emotions play at the edges of his Head of House's face, the frankness he was using cutting through the older man's facade.

"I am not the second coming of James Potter, whatever you may think. I am not a spoiled pureblood, or even halfblood, prince. No, I was raised muggle, and didn't know I was Harry Potter until just over a month ago," continued Harry. "So please, don't assume that I am the same man who terrorized you through school. Don't assume that I have anything in common with James except our names and the disposition of our hair. I could care less about pranks and, marauding," he said, putting emphasis on the last word. "I have come to Hogwarts with one goal, and one goal only. The survival and eventual defeat of the second coming of the half-blood sociopath, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Who?" asked Snape.

"The Dark Lord, He-Who's-Name-Must-Be-Hyphenated, the man who terrorized this nation so badly that even a decade after his so-called defeat his name still inspires fear in the general populace," explained Harry.

"A half-blood?" asked Snape, surprised at the news.

"Much like you and I, Professor," said Harry, "Though, even that is stretching the truth a bit, since while his father was non-magical, his mother was practically as well."

"And how, pray tell, does a, boy, that didn't know he was Harry Potter until a month ago, know so much about the Dark Lord?" asked Snape.

Harry smirked, "I read it in a book."

Snape was flabbergasted when he realized that Harry wasn't lying, "And what book, pray tell, would reveal such, inflammatory, information about the Dark Lord?"

"You wouldn't believe me," said Harry, leaning against the wall of the hallway that they were still standing in.

"Try me," demanded Snape.

"I'm not sure exactly which one it was in, but I believe it was, 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince'," admitted Harry.

"What?" asked Snape, surprised as both the name and the use of his childhood name for himself.

"If I'm to tell you more, Professor, I'm going to need your assurances that you'll tell nobody, well, you can tell the Headmaster, since he knows, and Ron Weasley and Susan Bones know as well, as does Madam Bones and most of the Weasley family. Oh, and my godfather, Sirius Black," explained Harry.

"Black knows?" snarled Snape.

"I needed an ally, Professor Snape, and as juvenile as he is, he's ready made to be one," admitted Harry. "I know what he did to you, and what he got away with. If I had my way, he'd have been punished for it, but don't you think that a decade in Azkaban is enough?"

"Only if he was sorry," snarled Snape.

"I'll work on that," offered Harry. "So, do you want to know how I know about Tom?"

"Yes," admitted Snape.

"Professor, I need allies. I have Madame Bones and Sirius Black, as well as the Weasleys. I have Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, and Ronald Weasley here at Hogwarts. Since he apparently didn't heed my warning, I'm not exactly sure I have an ally in the Headmaster," admitted Harry. "I would like to have an ally in you, Professor Snape, but to do that, I need to trust you."

"What do you need?" asked Snape.

"A Wizard's Oath, that you'll not reveal it unless its to someone who I've already told you knows. Which would be everyone I mentioned, well, not Neville yet, but everyone else," said Harry.

A minute later and the oath was done.

"I'm from an alternate future, one in which Hogwarts, Tom Riddle, and the entire wizarding world is fictional," said Harry. "Somehow, on my twenty-eighth birthday my mind was transferred from my previous body to that of one Harry James Potter. We think it has something to do with my wand, but aside from that, we're not exactly sure how it happened, only that it did. The story of Harry Potter's time at Hogwarts, and the war that was waged during it, was made into seven books, and eight movies. The sixth book was, as I said, 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince', which would, of course, be referring to you."

"That is quite the story, Mr. Potter," said Snape.

"Try it from my side, Professor. I nearly went crazy the first week, but once I found allies, and that I wasn't alone, it became bearable."

"You're not alone?" asked Snape. "Mr. Weasley?"

"He used to be a teacher, in the world we came from. His sister, Ginny, as well, though I never really got what she used to do out of her, only that she has plans herself," said Harry. "We are connected by our birthdays, so I assume that was part of a magic that brought us here."

"I would be interested in investigating that, Mr. Potter," said Professor Snape.

"As would I, since it would help once I get enough magic under my belt, to go back to my birthday and do things differently," admitted Harry.

"I suspect that, since we aren't inundated with time travelers, that the method is either extremely difficult, extremely hazardous, or not repeatable," said Snape.

Harry shugged, "It's a hope, not a plan. I only plan to use what I know I can work with, rather than relying on what-ifs and possibilities."

"How very, Slytherin of you," admitted Snape.

"There's a reason I'm here, Professor. There's a reason I'm wearing the green and silver and not the gold and red," said Harry. "Now, if we're done, I'd like to have some breakfast, see how what the elves can cook is better than Tom at the Leaky Couldron. Plus, I need to get some coffee in me before I confront Quirrel."

"That's Professor Quirrel, Mr. Potter," corrected Snape.

"Actually, it's Tom Riddle riding the back of Professor Quirrel's head," further corrected Harry, "But that's a story for another day."

* * *

><p>After another half hour of discussions Professor Snape and Harry finally left the TARDIS. Unfortunately, that left only ten minutes for Harry to get to the Great Hall, have breakfast, and then get ready for his first class of the day, Defense with the aforementioned Professor Quirrel (with Tom Riddle riding the back of his head).<p>

"Where have you been?" asked Daphne once Harry finally arrived.

"Professor Snape had a problem with my sleeping arrangements, but we worked it out," said Harry, quickly grabbing some eggs, hash browns, bacon and toast, and making them into a breakfast sandwich while also having some tea (since he'd shared his coffee with his Head of House earlier).

"Weren't you saying something last night about fried foods?" asked Blaise?

"Again, I'm looking for more variety, also, don't have time," said Harry after swallowing a bite. He followed his declaration with a sip of slightly too hot, and not nearly sweet enough, tea, before taking another bite.

"So, what were these sleeping arrangements that Professor Snape had a problem with?" asked Daphne.

"Oh, Harry has a magical trunk that he sleeps in. Says its as big as an apartment," explained Theo.

"Wait, you can do that?" asked Daphne.

"Well, I'm not supposed to, and Professor Snape wasn't happy about it, but once I explained why, he was a bit more receptive," said Harry between bites.

"And that took half an hour?" asked Blaise.

"More or less, though we also go to talking about what happened to me in the last decade, about how he knew my parents, my birth parents that is, and about how I should go about trying to fit in a bit more, though I put the line at trying to affect an accent," said Harry, leaving out some of the conversation with Professor Snape, since he wasn't quite ready, and wasn't sure if he'd ever be ready, to tell his friends about who he really was.

"Affect?" asked Daphne, unfamiliar with the word.

"To fake an accent, basically," explained Harry.

"Then why didn't you just say so?" asked Theo.

"Why be accurate and imprecise, when you can be both?" asked Harry.

"So that people can understand you?" countered Daphne.

Harry thought for a moment, mouth half-full of bacon-egg-and-hash sandwich. He then swallowed, "I guess you're right. Thank you Daphne. I'll try to be clear, even if I can't be as precise as I want to be."

Just right then a girl with short blond hair held back by a silver headband ran up to the table and sat down in the empty seat next to Daphne. Harry realized that it was Tracey Davis.

"Nice of you to finally join us Trace," said Daphne, scooting over a bit to give the other girl room.

"Sorry I'm late, Gemma wanted to have a talk with me," said Tracey.

"Tracey was it?" asked Harry.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Tracey Davis," said the blond, she then blushed when she realized who she was talking to. "You're Harry Potter!" she squealed.

"Yes, Trace, we know," said Daphne, who had gotten the brunt of the squeal in her ear.

"So, Daph, why didn't you sit with me after you got sorted?" asked Tracey with a bit of a pout.

"Malfoy," said Daphne flatly.

"That's why I sat down here. I know my dad was friends with his during the war, but it's not like we're in the same circles," admitted Theo.

"I just want to sit with Harry, hear his story on how he got into Slytherin," said Blaise.

"Which reminds me," said Harry, turning to Theo, "The galleons?"

Theo gulped, but was saved by the ringing of the bell and the rapid evacuation of the table, Harry leaving with half of his sandwich still in hand, and Tracey snagging a muffin from the table before being pulled away by Daphne.

* * *

><p>As Harry had expected, the Defense Professor had successfully affected a stutter, and had made it very difficult to learn anything about Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry had hoped that Headmaster Dumbledore would have taken care of the Two-Faced Professor, but perhaps that was too much to ask of the Defeater of Grindlewald.<p>

"Well, that was useless," declared Harry, as he slipped his textbook and notebook into his haversack. He'd sat with his housemates, though he'd said hello to Susan before class had begun, and she'd reminded him, again, to write a letter to her Aunt Amelia. He'd taken the admonishment in stride, and then promptly forgot, trying not to look Tom Riddle's possessee in the eye during the lecture.

"I wouldn't call it useless," offered Daphne.

"Well, what would you call it?"

"A waste of time?" offered Theo.

"A waste of both time and money," offered Blaise.

"Well, if History of Magic is as bad as I've heard, it might be just as bad as Binns," offered Tracey.

"Well, I guess I'll have to move up my timeline," declared Harry.

"Timeline?"

"We are Slytherins Tracey, House of the Cunning and Ambitious, of course I have a plan. I've had it since I met our Defense Professor at the Leaky Cauldron on my birthday," explained Harry. "Apparently the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professorship is cursed. For the last few decades, perhaps since our parents attended, if not earlier, not a single Defense Professor has lasted more than a year, some haven't even lasted that long. Professor Quirrel was the Muggle Studies Professor until he took a year off to prepare for the Defense Professorship, so it's not like the Headmaster was able to secure the most prodigious scholar for our education," explained Harry.

"Harry, perhaps smaller words," offered Daphne.

"Sorry Daph, too much encyclopedias when I was younger," explained Harry, "But I'll keep trying for accurate and clear."

"That's all I ask."

"Well, we've got an hour before our next class," declared Harry, already the leader of his segment of the Slytherin First Years, "How about we stop by the Common Room, switch out our books for Charms and then check with a Prefect to see if we can get some supplemental Defense education."

"Supplemental?" asked Blaise.

"In addition to what we're receiving already, as poor as it is," explained Theo.

"Luckily we don't have both Defense and History of Magic is the same day, like the Lions, else I'd have to carry a pillow with me all the time."

"Pillow?" asked Tracey.

"For those that would prefer to sleep through Binn's sopo… sleep inducing lectures," explained Harry. He then glanced to Daphne, who smiled. He caught something out of the corner of his eye, and turned, catching Pansy Parkinson following the group. "Pansy, come, join us."

"Perhaps later Potter," offered Pansy. She then hustled past the group of fast friends, "Oh, and Potter, we need to talk, later." She then jogged away, leaving the five Slytherins slightly confused.

"So, first crush or something more sinister?" asked Harry.

"Seeing as she declared last night, quite loudly, or to use a five galleon word, vociferously," Daphne said, a smirk on her face, "that Draco was her's, I doubt it's a crush."

"Ah, so it's the latter. Well, then I guess I have my answer, or at least, a possible answer," said Harry.

"What's the question?" asked Theo.

"Theo, I'd love to tell you, but until I know the answer, I can't tell you the question," replied Harry. "It's not that I don't trust you, but having the question publicly known will make getting the answer much more difficult."

"Ah, I see," replied Theo. A few seconds later he added, "Well, not exactly."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>So, nearly a year since the late update. Sorry about that, I lost track of my muse, but now she's back, and she's actually speaking to me again, especially now that I've acknowledged that I don't need her for long chapters, but just a few scenes at a time. This will likely be the longest chapter of Fictional Universe for a while, as I'll be using the two scene chapter format I started A Potted Black Rose with, since it worked better with my muse's attention deficit … hey look a pony. The lyrics to "Make Your Own Kind of Music" belong to Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, while their placement in this chapter is inspired by Man of Science, Man of Faith, the second season premiere of LOST, written by Damon Lindelof. "The Raven" is by Edgar Allen Poe, though its text is in the public domain.

**Recommendation:** So, this chapter's recommendation is _Amber and Emerald_ (ID# 8423230), a challenge!fic from **Contramancer**. Like the length of this chapter, this is likely to be my last regular recommendation for this story, though I'll likely recommend various stories semi-regularly (even few chapters), though no promises. I just hope I can write regularly.

_Published January 4, 2013_


	11. Chapter 10

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Chapter 10**

After talking with one of the prefects, and arranging a time during the weekend when he'd get one of the sixth year students to tutor Harry and his friends, and Harry had made sure it was "Harry and his friends" rather than any specific personages, Harry excused himself and met with Pansy.

"Okay, so, what'd you want?" asked Harry.

"Who are you and what are you doing he?" growled out Pansy.

Harry looked at Pansy. If he had no clue what she was talking about, though in truth, he was just waiting for her to reveal the first morsel of information, "I don't know what you're talking about Pansy."

"Don't lie to me Potter. Ever since you got Peter Petigrew tried I've known something's different. That didn't happen last time. Now, you show up here and you've got a different accent, so something's changed," explained Pansy.

"So you're telling me that that traitor shouldn't have gotten caught? Did it mess with your cunning plan?" teased Harry.

"I couldn't care less about that rat," said Pansy. "I just want to know what your plans are for the Dark Lord, and Draco."

Harry smiled, "Draco, well, if I can, I'd like to get him out from the influence of his father, and as for Riddle, I want to see him defeated." Harry had figured that, since he'd been dropping the Riddle-Voldemort connection all over, including to Draco himself, revealing that knowledge to Pansy wasn't losing him anything.

"So, that answers the second half of my question, but not he first," said Pansy, stepping into Harry's personal space. "Who are you and what did you do with Harry Potter?"

Harry stepped to the side, away from Pansy, "As the French would say, _je m'appelle_ Harry Potter, though before my birthday at the end of July I didn't."

"Didn't what?" asked Pansy.

"Didn't call myself Harry Potter," said Harry, explaining the french phrase. "I grew up in America, though I was born here in the UK, as you'd expect. Unfortunately, I can no longer return to my family in America, and so my godfather, Sirius Black, is taking care of me, now that he's been freed from his unlawful incarceration."

"So, you're not going to admit you're a time traveller?" asked Pansy.

"I can neither confirm nor deny that I have travelled through time and or space," replied Harry, smiling at answering so evasively.

"What about the Weasel? He's a Ravenclaw now, he wasn't the first time," said Pansy.

"First time?" asked Harry.

"The first time he got sorted, just like you your first time, he was a Gryffindor," explained Pansy.

"I can honestly say that last night was the first time I've ever been sorted here at Hogwarts, though Ron did insist that he'd been sorted into Ravenclaw previously, so perhaps either he was lying, or you're getting confused," said Harry.

Pansy groaned in frustration, "Could you give me a straight answer?"

"I could," said Harry, scratching his chin, The then looked Pansy in the eyes, assuming that she couldn't read his mind, "But I won't."

harry then clapped his hand together, "Let me be honest with you Pansy, I have no reason to tell you any truth, let alone the whole truth, though I don't believe I've told an outright lie to you, though I will admit to bending the truth and telling riddles. As I said, my goal is to defeat Tom Riddle, surviving to adulthood would be nice, but doing my prophesied duty is all I care about right now. Now, you seem to only care about Draco, and I can admire that. Daphne's my friend, so I'd rather not see her little sister end up with him."

"How'd you know?" interrupted Pansy.

"There are a great many things that I know that I shouldn't, though there is at least an equal number of things I should know but I don't," explained Harry. "I know that your mind, if not your body," and he gestured at her eleven-year-old pre-pubescent body, "is from an indeterminate time in one possible future, a future that changed, I would presume, when you received your wand for the first time."

"So, that's how you did it," exclaimed Pansy.

"Let's me continue," chastised Harry. "We both have goals for the future, and luckily, those goals do not, at present, conflict. I'd like to keep it that way, for I know that you are likely the most knowledgable first year in the school, and depending on your previous success, perhaps more knowledgable than many of our older fellow students. I, on the other hand, have read the first few chapters of most of my textbooks, and as expected, attended a most unhelpful Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, and have subsequently arranged a tutorial with one of the sixth years this weekend. I suspect that you'd likely not require that tuition, but I'd like you to attend, as I believe that your previous education, whenever it was, in Defense was in the same vein as our present situation."

"You talk like a Ravenclaw, are as brash as a Gryffindor, and scheme like a Slytherin," declared Pansy.

"You'll also find that I'm as loyal as a Hufflepuff," added Harry. "Which reminds me, I need to see if I can make friends with a Mr. Diggory, lest we lose acquaintance before he completes his education."

Pansy looked at Harry, "You are a strange boy, Harry Potter."

"Even with all the books I've read about Hgowarts, the truth is stranger than fiction," said Harry. He then gave pansy a short bow, "Now, if you'll excuse me Ms. Parkinson, I've my friends to return to, though you and your perspective husband are welcome to join us this weekend."

* * *

><p>"What'd she want?" asked Tracey when Harry returned from his discussion with Pany.<p>

"Honestly, she just wanted to make sure I didn't mess up here thing with Draco," said Harry. "Among other things of little present consequence."

"You know Harry, you seem to have a knack for telling half-truths," noted Blaise.

"I enjoyed reading dictionaries and encyclopedias when I was younger," admitted Harry. "I know a great many things that I probably shouldn't, which means that I need to be careful with what I say, hence the half-truths. Hopefully, one day, I'll be able to explain everything to all four of you."

"I'd like that," said Theo.

"So, who's ready for Charms followed by nap time, otherwise known as History of Magic?"

* * *

><p>Charms was with the Gryffindors, and Harry had talked briefly with Neville before the class began.<p>

"So, Nev, how are things in the House of the Lions?" asked Harry, ignoring the glares from the various Slytherins around the room.

"Good, good," said Neville, receiving his own share of glares from the Gryffindors. "Though I'm still not sure I'm very good with magic. I mean, Hermione beat me in transfiguration this morning and she's a muggleborn."

Harry snapped his fingers, "Frak, forgot about her." He looked around and saw the expected frizzy haired brunette, already hiding behind her books with a space around her. "Nev, I need to ask you a favor."

"What?" asked the cowardly lion, unsure of what his friend of one day wanted.

"I need you to sit with my friends," he said, pointing to the grouping of Blaise, Theo, Daphne, and Tracey.

"W-w-why?" stammered Neville, doing a good approximation of Quirrel.

"Well, I need to be friendly with Hermione, and I need to promote inter-house cooperation. Since you're the only person I know in Gryffindor, you got volunteered for the duty," said Harry.

"What's so special about Hermione?" asked Neville.

"She's smart, she's muggleborn, and she's likely as not alienated every Gryffindor and Ravenclaw already," said Harry.

"Well, Ron sat with her, but once she got her matchstick to turn silver and pointy, he asked her for help, and she seemed to get mad," said Neville.

"I had feared as much," said Harry. "Well, I'll talk with Ron in History next period, but right now, you need to get acquainted with my fellow Slytherins. And yes, I know his Theo's father was a Death Eater, and he got off without going to Azkaban, but Theo's not his father. Plus, unlike me, you're a pureblood, which means he's already got more in common with you than he did with me when we became friends last night."

"O-okay," said Neville. He then crossed the room, and Harry turned to the lone, bushy-haired Gyrffindor rather than watch the inevitable confrontation when Neville attempted to join the Slytherins for class.

"Mind if I sit here?" asked Harry, setting his haversack down next to the seat next to Hermione.

She looked up at him, and he tried not to compare her to the actress that played her in the movies. This was a real girl, with real feelings, and that really needed a friend. She wasn't playing a part, but instead really was a bit of a stuck-up know-it-all. Perhaps Harry's fast-talking, wisecracking demeanor would help, perhaps not.

"Um, sure," she said.

"Thanks," said Harry, slipping into the seat. He then extended his hand, "I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

"Hermione, Granger, and I know who you are," she said.

"I know, I'm famous, and not a lick of what you've read is likely true," said Harry, hoping to curtail her canonical diatribe.

"What?" asked Hermione.

Before Harry could explain, Professor Flitwick finally entered the classroom, climbed up onto his stack of books, and called off role. Harry got halfway out of his seat as the half-goblin began, and then rushed across the room to help the diminutive professor when he inevitable fell from the books.

"Why don't you just get a proper sized chair? Or even a nice lectern?" asked Harry.

"You know, you're the second student to ever ask me that," said the Professor, dusting off his robes.

"Who was the other one?" asked Harry.

"Your mother, Lily," said Flitwick.

Harry was gobsmacked, he had hoped that between the long hair, the hat he habitually wore, and the contacts, he'd evade comparisons with James and Lily, but here he was, already getting those comparisons. But at least they were with the smarter and less egotistical birth parent, "Ah, thank you, I never really knew her, what with my adoptive parents living in America."

"That's right, Professor Dumbledore said you were raised there, though Minerva, Professor McGonagall, swore that you would have been with your aunt and uncle here in Britain," said the Professor.

"Perhaps we can talk later, I think the rest of the class if beginning to stare," said Harry.

"That they are," said Flitwick. Harry crossed back to his seat next to Hermione as the Professor finished taking roll.

"What did you talk about?" asked Hermione. "And what did you mean the books were wrong?"

"Well, perhaps after class," said Harry.

After finishing the bureaucracy, Professor Flitwick then began with his first lesson of the year, teaching the Light charm and it's counter, _lumos_ and _nox_.

While Hermione, as expected, was the first to get the spell, after Harry asked how she did it, beyond just the pronunciation, mainly the visualizing the magic, Harry wasn't far behind. Unfortunately, Neville was the only student unable to get the simple spell to work.

"Stupid squib," said Draco, as the class was picking up and getting ready to leave.

"I doubt that," said Harry, loud enough for the entire class to hear. He got everyone's attention.

"Come on, he can't even do a simple Light charm," countered the blonde.

"Well, if he had been using a matched wand, he'd likely have gotten as fast as you or I," said Harry.

"What?" asked Draco, looking to Neville instead.

"I'm using my father's wand," said Neville. "Gran insisted."

"But, a wizard never gets as good results using another's wand," said Hermione.

"Exactly," said Harry, hoping that any criticism would come to him, rather than Hermione. Unlike her, he knew that what people thought about you in school rarely mattered except for self confidence, which the girl desperately needed, and likely wouldn't get without help, or final grades. "Hopefully he'll be able to limp along until Christmas, when he'll get a wand, even if I have to buy it myself."

"Well, I know I'd never get caught dead using another's wand," said Draco, a bit pompously.

"Well, you didn't leave with the memory of your parents, comatose from the mad witch's spell, for the last ten years," countered Harry. Both Neville and Draco looked surprised. "I mean, it was your aunt and uncle who cursed them, even after the War was over after my birth parents died. That's why they're in Azkaban. Think of how much you'd cling to your parents if they were cursed so much they didn't even know who you were?"

Just then Neville, eyes red, ran out of the classroom.

Harry closed his eyes, sighed, and cursed under his breath.

"Great job Harry," said Daphne sarcastically.

"I know, I'll talk to him later. Hopefully he'll understand that I didn't mean that maliciously, but it would be better if he wasn't know as a squib," said Harry with a sigh.

"I know Harry, but he's not a thick skinned as you are," said Theo. "I mean, none of us, even Malfoy, are as thick skinned as you are. It sometimes seems like you're an adult that doesn't care, and sometimes like a wide-eyed infant who doesn't know any better."

Harry chuckled, "Yeah, that's pretty close, actually." He hefted his haversack on one shoulder, "So, shall we sleep away our troubles in History of Magic?"

"You know, you really shouldn't sleep in that class," said Hermione, overhearing Harry.

"You're right, I shouldn't, but it's easier than trying not to. Plus, he's a ghost, so it's not like he's come up with any original thoughts in the last hundred years or so. I bet you could get a copy of his lecture notes from some enterprising Ravenclaw," countered Harry. "I'll pay attention in that class when the professor isn't dead, otherwise, I'm going to use it as a siesta."

"It can't be that bad," counted Hermione.

"Talk with me next charms class, after you've had your go with Binns, and tell me it wasn't that bad," declared Harry.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So, it took my a long time to get the second half of this written, until I realized that I had forgotten about Hermione, and Charms on Monday was Gryffindor/Slytherin, so it slotted in nicely. The bit with Neville was a bit of "Nice Job Breaking it Hero", though Harry did so with with best of intentions.

_Published January 16, 2013_


	12. Chapter 11

Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.

**Chapter 11**

When Harry sat down for History of Magic, he wasn't surprised when a red-haired Ravenclaw sat down next to him.

"Hey Ron, how's life among the eagles?" asked Harry.

"Good, not exactly what I was expecting. Luckily Arthur gave me a basic course on what it was like to be raised magical before I came, so instead of standing out that some people I could name, I'm just Arthur Weasley's muggle-obsessed Ravenclaw son," replied the fellow cross-time traveler.

"How were your classes today?" asked Harry, who had removed a throw pillow from his haversack.

"Good, but, really, you brought a pillow to History of Magic?" asked Ron, a bit surprised.

"Ron, it's History of Magic, unless we're lucky enough to get him exorcised, we're better set by sleeping and reading the textbook," said Harry. He then paused, "Actually, I have an idea."

"That might be dangerous," said Ron with a smile.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball, but I think I'll ask around the dungeons, but perhaps someone has compiled the various notes for Binns' classes. It's not like he's likely to change them anyway, he's dead," offered Harry.

"Nah, he's just pining for the fjords," countered Ron with a smile.

"Ron, it's nap time, not time for a Monty Python sketch," glared Harry. He then turned around his ubiquitous baseball cap, and settled down for a nice ninety minute nap.

"Harry, Susan talked to me in Potions last period, asked me to remind you about the letter to Amelia," said Ron, not letting Harry even pretend to sleep.

"Really, you're going to make me do this?"

"Harry, Richard, whomever, you told Amelia, Madam Bones, that you'd send her a letter by owl if Quirrel was still here. Obviously, you didn't do it last night, and since you're griping about it, you didn't do it today either. What's the point of having that glorious owl if you're not going to use her? Plus, if you don't, Sue and I, and I'll get Neville in on this too, will bother you about it every class until you do. So, since you weren't planning on paying attention in this class anyway, why not write to Amelia to tell her that your guess was right, and Dumbledore hasn't sacked Quirrelmort."

Harry relented, the droning of their ghost professor, who had begun the class while they were talking, going on in the background. He grabbed his fountain pen and a sheet of A4 paper from inside his haversack, and began to write his letter to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, informing her, formally, that he suspected that their Defense professor was possessed by one Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', or 'You-Know-Who'.

* * *

><p>Harry had quickly slapped together a letter for Madam Bones, and then re-wrote it twice just so that it wasn't an awful mess on the parchment. The fountain pen helped, but it would take more than a few weeks to get used to it. After it looked good, and he'd checked it over with a pocket dictionary once again to make sure the works were right (he'd made a note to look into a spell check charm, and possibly a grammar check charm too, and if not, he'd put it on the long list of "things to do"), he took the hike up to check on Hedwig and her new parliament.<p>

"Hey girl," said Harry, greeting his fine feather friend in the clear area near the door. The rest of the breezy space was covered in droppings, likely years if not centuries worth, depending on how sadistic Mr. Filch's predecessors were, and so were the sole domain of the postal raptors rather than their absent minded humanoid charges. "Sorry I missed you, but I'm still getting settled in here. I hope you made more friends than I have. I mean, sure I'm friendly with the guys in the dungeon, but it's nothing like Harry would have without me in his stead. I mean, sure, Ron and I get along, but I'm not sure either Hermione nor Neville are exactly friendly, and Draco I think resents me for the privacy my trunk affords me."

He stroked the delivery predator again, then made sure to secure the letter tight to her leg, "I'm not sure if there's a worse method of sending the mail, no offense intended, but it seems wonderfully inefficient. Mind, it's probably got more to do with centuries of heritage of direct wizard to wizard, or witch to witch, communication than the more modern post offices. If it worked well for hundreds of years, why change now?" Harry sighed, "I think that's going to be my biggest problem, I don't have the same long vision that wizards seem to have. I mean, I was raised in such a transformative time, computers getting popular, the world suddenly shrinking from a long distance phone call or letter to a quick hundred and forty character tweet arose the globe. I don't have the need for traditions, since everything's constantly changing, I never had the need to learn how my ancestors did something, since what they did either was horridly anachronistic, or simply impossible to do."

He looked to the owl and chuckled, "And here I am, venting to an owl. I know you're smarter than a normal owl, but right now I just need someone to talk to so I don't seem completely barmy." He chuckled again, secured the knot once more, and then stepped back, "Take that to Amelia Bones, Hedwig. She might want to send something back, else come back. I might want to send something to Sirius later in the week, once I've figured out how I truly stand."

Hedwig barked, spread her wings, and then leapt past Harry. She turned gracefully and then flew out of the gaps in the walls designed for the purpose.

"Well, that's one fast down, only an infinite more left," said Harry with a sigh.

* * *

><p>Oh his way back from sending his letter, Harry passed someone that he'd been meaning to apologize to. "Neville? Hey, can you spare I moment?"<p>

"What, you want to say something else Potter?" asked Neville, he eyes slightly red. "Have any juicy tidbits about my Gran too?"

"I need to apologize Neville, I went too far," said Harry. "I just, well, I see such promise, and then to see that promise squandered. I mean, you're already a badass and you don't even know it."

"Bad ass?" asked Neville. "Now you're calling my a donkey?"

Harry shook his head, "No, that's not it, I mean, you're … How to say it without using context you don't have? Okay, how's this?" He took a deep breath, "We have a lot in common, you and I. I mean, Riddle came after me, but you were born what, a few hours before me? He could have just as easily gone after you first instead."

"What's that got to do with anything?" asked Neville.

"What I mean to say … okay, this is hard without context, so I'm just going to level with you. Riddle, the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, he was the subject of a prophesy, and until he showed up at my birth parents' door, it could have applied to either him and I or him and you. We were both boys born at the end of July to parents that had thrice defied him, whatever that means. That's why our families were in hiding. He came after the Potters first, probably because James and Lily trusted Peter, the Rat, so I was an easier target. He came after us because he thought we had the power to defeat him. He marked me, but could have just as easily marked you instead had you been easier to get at. But, he was so afraid of us, that even after his body was destroyed that night, his loyal followers went after the other potential. They went after you. Your parents had thought it safe, and so weren't as heavily protected, and so, in a way, it's my fault they're stuck in the spell damage ward. But, that potential for power existed, exists really, in both of us. You, raised in the shadow of your parents, were always compared to them, always worried if you were worth the sacrifice your parents made. I, on the other hand, I was sent off to America to live a normal life. I didn't even know I was Harry Potter, that I was famous, that I was the Boy-Who-Lived, until my birthday. Didn't really kick in until I got my wand and I realized I was a wizard, that I could really do magic."

"How do you know all this?" asked Neville.

"Learned it along the way, found out about the prophesy, about who Riddle was before he was the Dark Lord, even about how our parents sacrificed themselves for us. Had things gone differently, either Dumbledore not sent me away, Sirius not get framed, or even your parents not get stuck they way they are, we'd have likely as not know each other growing up. So, I guess, well, I want to be your friend, Neville. I want to apologize for the way I told a story that wasn't mine to tell. I sometimes forget that I know things that not everyone else does, though I should remember, since I get it constantly thrown in my face that the others in Slytherin know more about the magical world that I'll even know."

"How do do it?" asked Neville. "How do you just not care abut what they think?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't know. If I thought about it more, I'd probably not do it. Hell, I probably shouldn't, but that's life. I know that, once this is all down, I'll have to go back to school to get my mundane education, and then I'll go off to university, and then find a nice girl, raise a family, and not care one bit about what the idiots I went to school with thought about me. I know that there are hundreds of millions of people in America that don't care a lick about what I do here at Hogwarts, and if I do things right, I'll be able to live a happy life there."

"You'd leave the wizarding world?" asked Neville.

"Neville, think about it, I didn't grow up here. I didn't grow up with magical plants, house elves, and goblins. I grew up with dreams of space travel, computers, and robots … not that you know what either of those last two are. I mean, sure I'm glad I get to go to Hogwarts, but I'm here for one reason and one reason only, and as soon as that's done, I'm leaving this backwards culture for civilization."

"What?" asked Neville.

"I've got a Dark Lord to kill," said Harry.

"But … isn't he dead?"

Harry shook his head, "He's not exactly dead, and not exactly alive, but he plans on coming back, and when he does, I want to be ready for him. Because, really, it's just me, with you as my backup, for when he comes back. At least, that's what he believes. I don't think it's true, I think the prophesy was fulfilled the night his body was destroyed, but I doubt he'll think that way, he'll want revenge, and Dumbledore wants things done his way, though I doubt he expects me to survive."

"What?" said a confused Neville.

"It's complicated, and if I told you, you'd not believe me," said Harry with a sigh. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for being a jerk earlier. I still think you need a wand of your own, and I'm willing to foot the bill if your Gran doesn't think the same way. Call it a Christmas gift if you want, or ten years of late birthday gifts."

Neville stood in silence for a bit, "Okay, apology accepted." He then scrunched up his face, "You're still weird."

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong> So, took me a year, but I finally finished this chapter.


End file.
